Foundations
by stina88
Summary: After being introduced to his new flatmate's brother John, Sherlock finds himself with a new assistant . And having a psychopath on the loose targeting pregnant women, Sherlock and John definitely have their work cut out, especially with Moriarty waiting in the wings . Slightly AU Johnlock .
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything to do with "Sherlock", as much as I might wish... I simply play with what has already been created

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**Foundations**

**Prologue**

_Boring._

Sherlock sighed as he forked over a few notes to the taxi driver and stepped out into the rain. He had predicted the rain as usual, then again what other Londoner hadn't, but this didn't mean he was any less prepared for the downpour. He flipped up his coat collar and begrudgingly moved away from the taxi as it sped away back into the London traffic.

There it was. The building he'd come all this way to see and all of sudden he was struck with how monotonous it all was. It was just a flat. A place he would come to call home in the future months with whoever his flatmate turned out to be. That didn't mean it held any significance in the greater scheme of things… Sherlock would even imagine that no crime had ever been committed in the flat. How terribly irksome.

The door was a plain black, paint obviously fairly fresh from the fact that the rain barely bothered it. It looked like the typical kind of house paint one might find in any normal household store, no important factors there. On the door was a faded gold knocker as well as the house number "221B" clearly inscribed for all to see.

Sherlock wasted no time in crossing the road over to where the building was and raising his hand to the knocker. He knocked three times, choosing it as the best number to show his intentions. One was for the knock and run school-child, playing games to ruin Mrs Hudson's day. Two would mean a delivery man, wanting to make sure he was heard but not caring that much. No, knocking three times was best for Sherlock's intentions – he was a man here to see a flat.

There was a brief pause as Sherlock stood watching the street-lamp near him flicker on and off. It could be someone trying to send a signal… but then again it was clearly just that the filament of the bulb was aging and soon to be dead. He'd have to get Mrs Hudson onto the council. Or maybe his new flatmate would do it.

"Sherlock!"

The delight in Mrs Hudson's voice would have been clear for any passer-by to hear – if there had been any – as she tried to pull him into a one-armed hug. He shrugged her off gruffly and stepped inside the house. "What took you so long?"

The smile that was lighting up Mrs Hudson's face failed to move even with his blunt remark as she bustled further down the hallway. "I was just checking everything was sorted for our visitor," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into her own flat.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He should have realised that all the fuss wasn't for him but instead his future flatmate.

Both he and Mrs Hudson knew next to nothing about his new companion in flat-sharing other than they'd contacted via email that they wanted to see the flat tonight and would their future flatmate like to come along. Sherlock had liked to come along, but only to know about this mysterious new acquaintance. They'd made sure not to leave any major details other than a number, whether by accident or on purpose he didn't know. But Sherlock had guessed from the email of "watson3 " that his companion had to be male, no self-respecting woman would have that email – they'd be more likely to use a first name and last name combination than a surname and a number. But Sherlock's deduction was yet to be confirmed.

"Did they leave any name?" Sherlock asked again as he strode after Mrs Hudson into her flat.

"No, dearie," she replied as she fluttered about, putting the kettle on.

She looked flustered. Clearly she wanted to make a bigger impression than Sherlock himself did.

Wasn't the phrase "be yourself"? Her lips were just slightly redder than normal, suggesting she had applied lipstick and then wiped it off, considering it to be inappropriate for the situation. The tiny smudge on her upper canine also backed up this theory. She was wearing a floral blouse alongside a knee-length shirt, the blouse was buttoned up to the chin giving him the idea that she didn't want to appear as a "bad" kind of woman. Sherlock rolled his eyes; there was no chance of that.

The cups that Mrs Hudson took down from her cupboard were made of china and were those that Sherlock had never seen before. So this was what it was like to be received as a special guest… even if the special guest was not in fact him.

Sherlock simply stood and waited as Mrs Hudson fretted around him, making the tea in a teapot that was of the same china as the cups and then grabbing the saucers and a tray. "Sherlock, would you be a dear and carry this?

He met Mrs Hudson's eyes and raised his eyebrows. She knew perfectly well he wasn't the man for manual labour such as lifting. With a sigh, she picked up the tray herself. "I'm not your housekeeper, Sherlock."

He couldn't help but grin as he followed Mrs Hudson up to 221B, she might not think she was his housekeeper but that didn't mean she wasn't.

The banister was coated with a fine layer of dust showing that Mrs Hudson herself had not been up to the flat in a while, but there were drag marks on the carpet where Sherlock knew his own furniture had been carried up – they clearly felt no need for banisters. Mrs Hudson paused putting down the tray to open the door. "Now, Sherlock, you've got to be on best behaviour-"

She was cut short as the door swung open to show the state of disarray the flat was now in. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to move in already, knowing that he was going to be staying there and so was this new flatmate if their mysterious nature was anything to go by. "Sherlock!"

There were books and papers piled everywhere, allowing the sofa and easy chairs to be the only furniture free without contact. Sherlock's desk sat to one side also covered in documents. "How did you get in?" Mrs Hudson was standing with her hands on her hips in the doorway.

It simply showed how well she knew him that she hadn't turned round and throttled him yet. He was fairly used to people attempting that.

Sherlock shrugged as he barged past her, almost kicking over the tea which still lay on its tray on the floor. He headed straight to the sofa where he sprawled out, beckoning her over for the tea. She let out another sigh as she picked the tray up and brought it over. "I have a bad hip, you know, Sherlock-"

Luckily, Sherlock was saved another tedious lecture by the doorknocker going. First once, then another two times. Good decision. His new flatmate had brains. Obviously these were only the brains of an average human being but he could deal with that.

There was a brief murmuring of greetings at the doorway, Mrs Hudson sounded like an over-excited hum of words whereas the returning buzz of words was deep and almost sarcastic in sound. The feet passing over the threshold sounded light, so their owner must be fairly thin, but they were sure of themselves. There was no trace of any injury or past experience involving their legs, which was a good sign for if Sherlock ever needed them to run to the shop.

The sound of two pairs of feet moved up the stairs until they were hovering at the door. "Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said as she entered the door, glancing so severely at him that he moved so he was slightly less messy on the sofa. "I'd like you to meet our mysterious "watson3". This is Miss Harriet Watson."

The girl that followed Mrs Hudson into the room was around twenty-five years old and was pretty slight, around the same height of Mrs Hudson herself although a little taller. She was skinny and had short blonde hair that spiked out around her head, framing a face that was covered in dark mascara making her look a little alike a panda.

"Hi, I'm Harry."

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_So there we have it, the prologue of my new series "Foundations". I've not decided on how long the series is going to be but have been fancying a "let's change the very beginning of Sherlock" type fanfiction for a while and so figured I'd have a go. Any of those of you who know me already will know that this fanfiction is bound to end up Johnlock so anyone who doesn't like this ship I'm sorry but that's just the way things go. But we don't have any John for a little while anyway (bear with me guys!) Anyway I'd love it if I could have some reviews so I know whether it is a good idea to continue this after all. Thank you to those who read this in any case in advance! _


	2. Miss Watson

**Disclaimer: **You may have figured this out already for yourselves but I own nothing of "Sherlock", much as I wish I did. I'd certainly love to be the one in charge of beautiful Benedict's lines...

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**Foundations**

**Miss Watson**

Sherlock did not move from his position sprawled across the sofa even as Mrs Hudson attempted to settle their new guest in a chair. His eyes were fixed on the young Miss Harriet Watson as he tried to gather all the details he could on her before she sat down. One couldn't gain a new flatmate if you didn't know first whether they were a spy for your brother, or wanted to kill you. The first possibility was perhaps the most terrifying.

Harry Watson was small and this was definitely not helped by the way she stooped a little, giving the impression that she liked to stick to the shadows and be less of the centre of attention - possibly because of some flaw in her character. Her clothes were all fairly normal: black skinny jeans and a t-shirt of the same colour with a silver design on it. She must have brought an umbrella for the rain outside and some kind of jacket with her and left them downstairs as there was no way a girl of that size would survive a rainstorm without catching hypothermia by simply stepping outside.

There was a smile firmly settled on her face as she settled herself in one of the two armchairs, allowing her gaze to shift to Sherlock. He knew that she could feel him analysing her but didn't stop. The only thing that could stop him was if she decided to leave, or to slap him which had happened a fair few times in the past. University had certainly been interesting; people didn't really want their affairs out in the open. Sherlock found himself oddly missing those days… now everyone was boring.

And yet, there was something about this woman that drew Sherlock's attention. The smile she wore bore harshness to it, like it was plastered on like the lipstick Mrs Hudson had decided against. There was no real happiness in it. Sherlock knew that as he would often have to make one of these smiles himself when on a case. It was the slight frown lines on Harry's forehead that let him know the sheer pressure it was taking to keep this smile up.

Harry's hair was fairly uninteresting: short, blonde and choppy in style. It was the modern woman's haircut and fairly easy to maintain, meaning she'd either cut it so because she had no-one to impress or she'd cut it so she wouldn't have to bother so much to impress them. Sherlock moved his eyes downwards to the woman's hands where she was now twisting a ring around her finger. It was an engagement ring, still shining and yet the skin around it was rubbed raw. _A failed relationship then. _

Suddenly, Sherlock realised that all the attention in the room was on him and Mrs Hudson was frowning at him. Harry had just given her name; it would appear that in civil conversation it would be right to say his own. But he didn't have enough information on her yet. Who exactly had she failed in a relationship with?

Mrs Hudson coughed, and whispered a slight "Sherlock!" under her breath.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed his hair out of his face. Both women looked at him expectantly. "My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

His tone came out a little more bored-sounding than he had expected it and Mrs Hudson's eyes narrowed a little but somehow this seemed to actually brighten Harry's mood. She smiled a little more. "Sherlock, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone called that before. It sounds… old?"

He watched her carefully. "My parents have a fascination with interesting names. My brother is called Mycroft."

There was no flicker of knowledge in those eyes, only a slight amusement. She couldn't be a spy then. Unless she'd been trained extremely well. Sherlock dismissed this thought. His brother wouldn't bother training up some weak girl to spy on him; even he had better things to do. "Sherlock and Mycroft – they certainly chose interesting names anyway," she commented, clearly not taking into account his slightly harsh tone.

Mrs Hudson, however, had noticed the intense stare that Sherlock was still giving her and piped up offering the tea around. Harry took it with milk but no sugar. Interesting. Sherlock did too. It seemed they might make good flatmates after all.

"What made you interested in the flat then, Miss Watson?" Mrs Hudson began, smiling cheerfully as she took a sip of her tea.

It would appear she'd thought no-one would ever apply to share a flat with Sherlock. He himself had been fairly surprised when she did. But then again Miss "watson3" was full of surprises… she'd managed to fool him into thinking she was a man after all.

"Oh, I dunno," Harry replied, showing a slight glimpse of her more middle class upbringing than Sherlock himself.

Sherlock recorded this detail for later. "I've always wanted to live in central London… and I had a bit of trouble with my previous flat. The landlord unfairly removed a few of his tenants. And, well, I got the lucky straw."

The concern in Mrs Hudson's eyes was genuine, but Sherlock's were still focused and ice-cold on Harry. There was something the woman wasn't saying. Why would a landlord just kick out his tenants? That's a waste of good rent. She must have done something… but what?

"I think you'll find me a good landlady," Mrs Hudson chuckled to herself. "If I put up with this one then I certainly must be."

Mrs Hudson turned her eyes to Sherlock for a moment and he rolled his at hers. Boring Mrs Hudson… did she really have to make the conversation so dull?

"I hope you don't mind my saying," Harry began. "But does all this furniture come with the flat? It seems rather over-crowded…"

Sherlock grinned. "As you applied to look at the flat in such a mysterious way I assumed you would probably be desperate for somewhere to stay… as it stands it would appear that you are indeed desperate for somewhere to stay after being kicked out of your flat by your landlord for causing trouble for the other tenants. I took the initiative to move myself in already. There's plenty of room left in the back."

Harry raised her eyebrows and sat back a little in her chair. "I'm sure Sherlock didn't mean that-"

She looked at Mrs Hudson, "I'm pretty sure he did. But I don't mind. Yes, I am rather desperate for somewhere to stay. I can still look elsewhere though."

"Shut your mouth, Mrs Hudson, you look rather like a goldfish," Sherlock snapped as his landlady gasped at the younger woman's comment. "You and I both know, Miss Watson, no-one will take you in with the foul reference given by your last landlord. In fact, you would be surprised if we took you on… but Mrs Hudson and I are rather different. I am looking for a flatmate who will pay their rent and will not mind my playing the violin in the early hours of the morning – it helps me think. I live for the work so you must not disturb me… but other than this I think you'd find me a perfect flatmate."

Mrs Hudson almost giggled to herself. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. He knew that his past dealings with people of normal intelligence had usually ended foully but did she really have to curse this from the start?

The blonde met his eyes. "I'll have to think about it. What are the terms?"

Sherlock let Mrs Hudson explain the rent and when it was due to Harry as he turned over on the sofa to face the wall and his skull. Harry Watson certainly seemed interesting. She had a secret. And where there were secrets… Sherlock had to find them.

Soon, Harry was being shooed from the house politely by Mrs Hudson because the rain had finally stopped and the woman wanted to give Sherlock a talking to. He sighed, now holding the skull. It stared back at him. For some reason he didn't even feel like talking to his friend. It just seemed dull.

"Sherlock, I think this one might actually stay… there's no need to be rude about it," Mrs Hudson said as she walked into the room, shutting the door behind her.  
She immediately started bustling about collecting all the cups and piling them back onto the tray.

"Did you hear me, Sherlock?" she called over her shoulder.

He rolled over to face her. "Yes."

"Could you try a little with this one? Miss Watson seems very nice and she didn't even seem too disturbed by… your _disarray_."

She was clearly referring to his position on the sofa and the general state of disorder the room was in. "Maybe you could clear this up before our next viewing?"

"There won't be a next viewing, Mrs Hudson. Harry Watson is going to take up our offer in approximately three hours. That's how long it will take her to realise that she truly does need somewhere to stay… and that she is in fact intrigued by me."

Mrs Hudson chuckled a little to herself. "Ever the modest man, Sherlock."

This was when the door sprung open downstairs and there was the thud of footsteps rushing up the stairs. "Sherlock!"

Lestrade burst through the door, out of breath but still able to speak. Sherlock didn't need him to. There'd been another one.

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_So there we go, the first main chapter of Foundations for you! Apologies that it's a little bit of a slow-starter but I thought it was best to ground Harry before heading onto the main plotline. I have a lovely promise for you: John is in the next chapter! As is a lot more Lestrade, because I've got to admit I love Lestrade he's really cool. Sorry for being a little slow on updating as well, I've had some English coursework to work on but that is finished now so the next chapter should be around soon as I have already started work on it (I'm on a writing buzz as my main plot is fairly exciting for me!)_

_And let me just give a massive thank you to: **milkyourpigs **and **P****urplepacker** for favouriting and following, **N****inetailedvixen1 **and **M****y sisters randomness im wierd** for favouriting, and **nannily, al-dena, **and **mixed array **for following! As well as **permanentlybaffled**'s awesome review!  
__You guys have given me massive encouragement to carry on and I'm really grateful for the favourites and follows and review! To anyone who's reading, it's wonderful to receive a review as it really helps to improve my writing so again I say read and review if you can. Thanks everyone and I'll see you for the next one soon (probably on Wednesday - or beforehand :o )_


	3. Serial Suicides

******Disclaimer: **You get the drill... 'Sherlock' is unfortunately not owned by me: I wish

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**Foundations**

**Serial Suicides**

_Another one! _Sherlock couldn't help the delight that was filling him as he grabbed his coat and dashed out of the flat after Lestrade._ Finally._

Mrs Hudson had often compared Sherlock to a child when he got a new case. They were like Christmas presents: perfect and ready for the unravelling. Nothing was better. And this was a case Sherlock had been waiting for. The world had never before seen serial suicides, and whoever was behind them was clever… very clever. Sherlock couldn't help the grin covering his face; this was going to be fun.

It didn't take long for a taxi to respond to Sherlock's hailing and soon he was bouncing into the one of London's black cabs. "Follow that car."

Sherlock didn't miss the slight raise of eyebrows from the elderly taxi driver nor the slight smile, showing his clearly yellow teeth. Ignoring his driver, Sherlock turned to the window to stare out into the city as he considered what on earth could be different about this victim.

It had to be a note. There was no other explanation. This victim had written something… had said something… had left some clue that the police didn't have any clue what to do with. Then again, the police didn't have a clue what to do with much, that's what they called Sherlock in for. Consulting detective, it was brilliance. Pure brilliance.

Sherlock shoved a wad of notes into the driver's hands and received another smirk as he arrived at the latest crime scene. The cab was soon whirling away into the distance and Sherlock was forced to turn to the police tape in front of him. "Hello, freak."

"Donovan, always a pleasure," Sherlock replied as he breezed under the police line and started to head towards the building.

There were many police officers lurking around, probably not helping with the "crime scene" look that was screaming out into the streets. If there was ever a way to show a murderer that they'd been caught out it was like this.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to reach the top of the stairs, his long legs burning a little from the running. He'd almost run over four constables on the way up. It served them right for being in the way. "Sherlock, what are you doing at my crime scene?" came a whiny voice as soon as Sherlock reached the doorway.

"Shut up, Anderson."

There was a snivel-nosed man in front of Sherlock, his hands on his hips clearly blocking the entrance to the room in which the next suicide had occurred. "Who ordered you here?"

His voice was almost annoying as his simpering persona and Sherlock couldn't help but wrinkle his nose slightly. If there was anyone alive who could lower the IQ of a room, it was Anderson.

"I did."

Lestrade stepped back through the doorway, pushing Anderson out of the way to beckon Sherlock inside. "And I would like it if you could move out of his way, Anderson. We need him."

Anderson curled his lip but to Sherlock's satisfaction stepped out of Sherlock's way. Much to his displeasure, Sherlock noticed as he passed that Anderson's nails were grubby and bitten - clearly he'd not bothered to wash his hands before visiting the scene. Tampering with his evidence again. Anderson was simply a waste of good air.

Walking into the room, Sherlock took in the sight of the woman all in pink sprawled on the floor. She was clearly a businesswoman, and everything about her screamed this at Sherlock. He squatted next to the body and then turned to Lestrade and asked, "Where's her case?"

* * *

It took Sherlock one attempt to find the bin he needed and in no time he was lifting an excruciatingly pink suitcase out of it. Everything about it screamed the dead woman, right down to the hastily scrawled pink label giving her email address and name. Sherlock barely gave it a second glance but instead grabbed hold of the handle of the case and headed out of the alley, ready for his second taxi of the night.

The city of London at night in a rain-storm was always something to witness and Sherlock couldn't help but stare as his taxi whizzed towards 221B Baker Street. There was always something going on, some life being ended or saved. All that mattered to Sherlock was whether it was boring or not… but he did like to people-watch.

As the cab halted at a set of traffic lights, Sherlock watched a young man cross the road. He was wearing dark glasses even though it was dark outside and keeping his head down. Everything about this man's posture screamed rich. He was holding himself straight, as if he had not a care in the world and almost dancing along the road. He was fast. And something about him drew Sherlock in to staring and ignoring the case at hand.

Then the man looked directly at him. A pair of dark glasses met his eyes and then he removed them with a smile, popping them into his pocket. The eyes that met his were as dark as the glasses, a deep brown but just as Sherlock was trying to work out what exactly it was about them that was not allowing him to look away the taxi decided that it was now time to pull away.

Sherlock couldn't help the slightly angry feeling he had from being taken away from this man, but he knew it was idiotic and he was anything but idiotic. He had no time to people-watch. He had a case to solve and it was his name at risk, as usual. After all, why would the police come running to him if he wasn't the world's best detective? Sherlock smirked to himself as he once again removed himself from the taxi (after paying his fare).

221B stood as it had earlier in that evening although now the door seemed perhaps even darker. His key slipped into the lock easily, telling him that no-one had been trying to force the lock open recently. That was good. Although the only person to force this lock that he knew of was probably himself when he came for his first look at the flat.

"Miss Watson rang back, dearie," Mrs Hudson called as he breezed in the door bringing the pink suitcase behind him. "She says she'll be over shortly. She's taking the flat."

Sherlock grinned. He'd known it. Of course she would take the flat. Harry had nowhere else to go, and she was just as intrigued by him as he was by her. He couldn't help but wonder why she had been kicked out of his old flat. There was always something that he couldn't deduce… and he knew whatever this was it was pretty big.

"Good, Mrs Hudson, send her up when she arrives."

"I'm not your housekeeper!"

Sherlock snorted to himself as he entered the flat and shut the door behind himself. It was just as he'd left it, right down to the piles of paper everywhere. He cleared the desk by spilling its papers on the floor and then dumped the case on top. Sherlock knelt down and stared at the case. This murderer was smart… and yet they were a serial killer – they wanted to be found out.

The case was a plain baby pink, slightly wet still from the rain with splashes of mud towards the bottom. It was fairly new, the zip not having been worn out or broken by use and yet this was not its first outing. Slight threads of blonde hair were caught in the zip itself which Sherlock removed quickly. It was obvious this was the woman's suitcase.

Slowly, Sherlock eased the lid open and peered at the contents. He was dismayed to see nothing out of the ordinary: no phone, no "this woman was murdered" note, no demands… just a business woman's suitcase.

Sherlock sighed heavily and sat back on the balls of his feet. There had to be something more to it. He couldn't have hit a dead end.

This woman had been travelling. She'd gone to Cardiff for a meeting, been caught in the rain and then returned to London. It hadn't been raining here when she arrived which explained the time of death. She had written "rache" on the floor, clearly a reference to a family member named Rachel rather than the German word for revenge.

Maybe this was about something else…

Sherlock snapped open his laptop just as somewhere in his room a phone began to ring. He ignored it, typing away quickly, waiting for Mrs Hudson to come up and answer it for him. Google was his first port of call as he looked up again the possible Rachels. There really wasn't much help there. Then he found himself researching the dead woman: again a dead end.

"Sherlock!"

He smirked as Mrs Hudson bustled her way into the room and picked up the mobile lying on the sofa. "Hello?"

There was a pause as Sherlock turned to stare at the suitcase. Then it hit him… why would this woman write 'Rachel' unless it could be used in some way… like a password.

"Yes, okay, I'll tell him you're on the way. What did you say it's for? He didn't tell me anything."

Sherlock opened up the email service straight away and typed in the pink peril's email and then 'Rachel' as a password. With bated breath he waited. And for once, not to his surprise, the email clicked through to the inbox… and the find my phone service.

It was the phone – that was what Sherlock had been ignoring all this time. Why would a businesswoman not have her phone? He had assumed it had to be in her case but now it was looking more and more like it wasn't in the case… but it was with the murderer.

"Sherlock, your taxi's on its way," Mrs Hudson told him as she headed out of the room again. "Please, could you just answer your own phone?"

"But what would the point in that be?"

"Someone might need to contact you one day, Sherlock."

He rolled his eyes and clicked on the find my phone app. It started to load.

* * *

It didn't take long after Mrs Hudson left the room for Sherlock to realise something was wrong… the display said the phone was in this room. And there it was. Pink as can be. The phone Mrs Hudson had picked up off the sofa and answered… but how had it got there?

There'd been no break-in and Harry couldn't have brought it so somehow either Sherlock himself or Mrs Hudson had brought it in. There was no other option. Sherlock grabbed the phone and attempted unlocking it, much to his unfortunate luck this proved to be pretty impossible.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Sherlock, taxi's here!"

Who does a businesswoman trust above all? Someone who hides in plain sight. Sherlock had his head resting on his long fingers when Mrs Hudson gave her second shout. But who could hide in plain sight...?

_Taxis._

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as his door opened. He should have figured it out earlier. He'd been so stupid and slow. Now the taxi driver from earlier with the yellow teeth was grinning at him. "Taxi for Mr Holmes."

"I don't believe I ordered a taxi," was all Sherlock replied.

The elderly man grinned. "Generally people don't order this kind of taxi, it's ordered for them and Miss Harry Watson was more than happy to point me in your direction."

Sherlock's blood ran a little colder. Harry? The woman who had come into his life so briefly earlier? She had betrayed him? It could happen… but Sherlock had trusted her. She didn't work for his brother and this automatically gained his trust… "No, no, no, Sherlock…" the cabbie continued. "It's not your fault. Miss Watson decided she needed a taxi, and I was more than happy to oblige. I don't think her brother will be so happy. He didn't sound so on the phone."

Sherlock's eyes widened. She had a brother? That might explain her sort of fragile-look, generally siblings were opposite. But he'd not been able to pick up anything about a sibling when she'd been there. Another secret for Miss Watson. She was becoming a little like a great question mark in Sherlock's head… and he wanted to figure her out.

"I take it I have little choice in coming with you?" he asked point-blank to which he simply received a smile. "And I will be causing an innocent death if I don't come?"

This time the cabbie nodded. "You do know who I am? Generally sociopaths don't stand up for people… I don't know Miss Watson, why should I save her?"

Again the cabbie grinned. "It doesn't matter who she is… she's simply insurance, a reason for you to come. A reason for you to give yourself when all the reason leaves you. As Sherlock it will leave you… when you play my game."

Sherlock met the cabbie's gaze. "Lead on."

* * *

"Shall we talk?"

They were sitting in a classroom of the very empty college, a fact which didn't worry Sherlock too much. Nor did the serial killer sitting in front of him. Serial killers were interesting… but oh so predictable. "Bit risky taking me, wasn't it? The police'll be round there soon and Mrs Hudson isn't a complete imbecile."

The cabbie grinned his toothy smile. "You call that a risk? Nah. This is a risk."

And then there it was. The bottle. There were two pills… the serial suicides were going to be explained.

"Ooh, I like this bit," the cabbie said as he unscrewed the lid and took out the tablet. "'Cause you don't get it yet, do you? But you're about to. I just have to do this."

And then out he took another bottle… and another tablet.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. So this was it? The great secret? One table meant death and the other meant life? Why on earth would anyone take the tablets?

"Because, Mr Holmes, I could hurt them. But with you, I could hurt her."

And with that the cabbie walked over to one cupboard, pulling out a gun. Then he was pulling open the door and out fell Harry Watson. A very distressed-looking Harry Watson. "Mr Holmes!" she couldn't help saying in relief until she realised how he was sitting in front of the pills.

Her eyes widened in panic. Sherlock could tell her thoughts. She wanted him alive to save her and if he took this risk she might not survive… it was a risk worth taking in his mind.

"Why should I take one?"

"I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together… we take our medicine."

Sherlock grinned. So this was it? A 50:50 chance of survival and they all took it? And they all got it wrong…

This cabbie thought he was a genius. But he was playing someone better. Sherlock's eyes flickered to the tablet the cabbie pushed forward and the other… and then picked.

But there was no time to take it before the gunshot.

The gunshot that hit the cabbie straight in the chest. He was dead instantly… And a scream ripped from Harry. "John! Thank God!"

There across the college was an older man holding up a gun but in less than a blink he was gone. Sherlock's breath left him. Who was that?

Suddenly he was not at all interested in the tablet in his fist but instead the strange man who may have just saved his life… The strange man that Harry Watson apparently knew.

* * *

_And the next part of 'Foundations' is complete! Apologies for being so late with my update compared to how I said - I was actually at some university open days this week so it's been kind of busy. But it's finally here! I'm just going to say I don't like this chapter much so it would be really nice to hear from you guys as to what you think (*hint hint* reviews would be lovely)._

_But in any case here are my usual votes of thanks for my new followers!: **FantasyDreamer23, MaryElisabeth, greenwitch88, xSommerRegen, Alieri, **and **amylovesjohnlock. **I love you all to my new followers! And I love you to everyone else who has followed in the past, and to **milkyourpigs **for an ace review and for being my companion in writing for most of my life - you guys should check out her writing it's ace! Anyway I've got to say **amylovesjohnlock** I love your name... it rocks!_

_Anyway, I gave you John this time but not that much John? So as I'm moving onto (*gasp*) my own plotline now I've got the serial suicides out of the way we shall be seeing a lot more of him... but I had to introduce him somehow and what better way! So anyway I'd love to hear you guys' thoughts, and a big thank you anyway to anyone who reads but I'd love some reviews :) See you guys soon for a more own-plot focused chapter and for more John! (I've got to say I feel he seems a bit badass just turning up to shoot someone so we need more of him!)_


	4. The Brother

**********Disclaimer: **Once again I say unfortunately Sherlock does not belong to me... I'm not that lucky. I just get to play with the characters lives... which could be even better!

* * *

**Foundations**

**The Brother**

"Sherlock!"

He watched Mrs Hudson's mouth fall open as she pulled open her door to find him on the other side holding up a very distressed Harry Watson. "What did you do?"

Sherlock pushed Harry into the flat before him. "She won't stop crying," was his simple reply in a dismissive tone, causing Mrs Hudson to narrow her eyes.

He didn't much care what Mrs Hudson thought at this moment in time though. He'd been on the verge of discovering just exactly how a remote control reacts to being microwaved but he couldn't record any results with that awful snivelling going on in the background. Honestly, he knew Harry was upset after being kidnapped by a serial killer but the least she could do was be quiet about it.

It seemed that by speaking he did nothing to help Harry Watson's situation in that she started sobbing more loudly. "Oh dearie," Mrs Hudson said, fluttering over to the broken woman and guiding her into her kitchen.

Sherlock begrudgingly followed. It wasn't his place to look after his flatmate – or anyone to be truthful, but since she was the only link to his new interest he would have to keep an eye on her.

For all Sherlock's interest in Harry's own secrets had vanished upon the introduction of this new figure: John.

The man had been short in stature with wide shoulders and a sure stance but that was about as far as Sherlock saw in such an unfortunately short amount of time. The man was older than himself but had not given anything away other than a definite military aura as he shot and then disappeared. The whole occasion had left Sherlock breathless. Not only had he been held back from proving his deduction as correct but he'd also almost been shot, if that bullet had gone slightly to the left…

There was something about this John though that said that bullet would never have missed its target. A calm surety… A calm military boldness that truly intrigued Sherlock, so much so that he knew he had to see this man again – that meant somehow he was going to have to fix Harry.

Mrs Hudson had moved over to the kettle where she was now hurriedly putting it on to boil, clearly tea was the thing to turn to in panicked situations. This meant that to shut Harry up Sherlock was going to have to help make the tea. With a definite sigh he pulled open one of Mrs Hudson's cupboards and rooted around for something to put the tea in. He came up with three glasses which after the raised eyebrow from Mrs Hudson he returned to the cupboard. It wasn't his fault that he'd never made tea before.

"They're in there, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, pointing to a cupboard on the opposite wall to where he was standing.

Sherlock rooted through his brain. Ah yes, tea was usually made in mugs. It wasn't his fault that the rest of the human race was stupid enough to not realise that tea could be made in other drinking containers than mugs. He sprang into action and headed to the right cupboard, this time returning to Mrs Hudson with three mugs.

The first mug was chipped from over-use – Sherlock presumed it was probably Mrs Hudson's favourite as she had had it for a long time and yet continued to use it. The floral pattern on the side of the mug confirmed this. The other two mugs were plain, one with the logo for Cadbury's on the side and the other simply purple. Into these mugs Sherlock placed three teabags, one per mug. He'd seen this part done before in tea rooms he'd visited on a case.

Mrs Hudson's slight smile told him that he was doing well as he headed away from the mugs again and sat down in the chair opposite Harry at the kitchen table. The woman was doing well in attempting to pull herself together. No longer were her sobs clogged and disgusting but instead more silent. She was holding her head in her hands so only blonde hair was visible and this was hanging rather limply as if it too had given up after her hard experience.

For Sherlock realised now that the general reaction to almost being murdered was to cry and panic. He was so used to the idea of murder on a case that any reaction such as Harry's was considered a weakness but this woman did not visit crime scenes every day. Suddenly two cups of tea were placed on the table before him, and so Sherlock nudged one of these in Harry's direction.

Slowly the girl's head rose from her hands. The tears seemed to have stopped for now but this left her with a rather bedraggled looking expression. Her cheeks had puffed out rather and her entire face was tinged in a definite pink which was verging on red. She coughed slightly to clear her throat before gripping the tea and raising it to her mouth.

Sherlock watched with interest as the woman gulped down a sip, even though the tea would still be at lava-levels, before turning to Mrs Hudson. "I'm so sorry," she let out. "I… I just couldn't control it."

The smile that Mrs Hudson gave her was honest and kind. For once Sherlock found himself thanking the woman for her caring nature; otherwise he'd have a lot of trouble returning Harry to her usual state. Already the woman was looking a lot better, especially now that she'd returned from her hands, and having a maternal woman such as Mrs Hudson there would just make her better quicker. Sherlock grinned, praising himself for his brilliance in choosing to bring Harry here.

"That's alright, Miss Watson, I've seen him in worse states. Sometimes I swear the police take away parts of the crime scene just to see him go mad. "Mrs Hudson! The spade wasn't there! But it's so obvious, why are they so excruciatingly dull?"" Mrs Hudson ended her small speech on a giggle, which Sherlock did not return.

He did not speak like that. Plus it had been excruciatingly dull. Who hides their murder weapon underneath a shed? It was obvious the police did it, no-one else was that stupid.

"He works for the police?" Harry's eyes lit up, focusing on this feature.

This was when Sherlock remembered that not everyone could read people like he could. Her job was obvious. Receptionist. Her nails were bitten right down and there were slight smudges of ink on her, but the true clue was her slight tremor in her hands as if she had a slight repetitive strain injury from typing far too much.

"No. I don't work for the police."

Sherlock was aware his voice was rather blunt and he was talking to a woman who had just stopped crying but that wasn't going to make him any more sympathetic for her being stupid. "Oh… Why on earth were you talking to that _man_ then?" she asked, her voice gradually increasing in strength so that this was almost a little snap at him.

"I'm a consulting detective. The police call me in when they find they're too dim-witted to find a killer… which is most of the time."

"Modest."

"Don't worry about him, dearie. He doesn't know what modesty is. Most people just ignore him when he goes off in one of his moods."

"Mrs Hudson!"

"So I'm planning on moving into a flat with a man who solves crimes for a living and who can't keep his flat in order? And who plays the violin at odd times in the morning. Is that about everything?"

There was a definite smile returning to Harry's voice as she spoke and Sherlock smirked. It was working. She was cheering up. Even if it was because she was finding his abnormality amusing… It wasn't his fault that he was much less dull than the rest of the human race.

"I also tend to do experiments rather a lot. But I will pay any damages on your things obviously."

"Okay… I think I can deal with that. There won't be any further kidnapping will there?"

Mrs Hudson came over to rest a hand on Harry's shoulder. "He is Sherlock, Miss Watson. He's made rather a lot of enemies… It's just bad luck that you were found on your way here. But other than the obvious issues I think he'd make a good flatmate for you. Although perhaps I should warn you about the deducing?"

"Deducing?" Harry asked, turning to Sherlock.

At this point any other human would probably have cracked their knuckles before launching into the verbal pyrotechnics; Sherlock chose to move straight onto the fun.

"Your name is Harriet Watson. Harry Watson. You have one sibling… possibly a brother, and work as a receptionist at some corporate firm. You're moving flat because of some issue you caused meaning that your landlord had to forcefully remove you. It's probably the same reason that your brother hardly talks to you anymore. And that you have broken up with your partner. That engagement ring you keep playing with speaks for itself. See how the outside is still shining as if you keep care of it? And yet the skin around it is rubbed raw, playing with it is a nervous habit of yours. You keep your outfits plain so that you don't stick out from the crowd but can be found dressing up for that certain somebody who you're not quite over which is why you cling to wearing your engagement ring even when they have confirmed that it is definitely over unless you change your ways, which clearly you have not managed to do yet. Have I missed anything?"

Harry blinked at him and for once did not seem at all likely to cry. Sherlock braced himself. This was usually the point where he got punched in the face, or told to piss off. But Harry simply stared at him. "Why did I get kicked out of the flat then?"

Sherlock stared. It was the one factor of Harry Watson that he hadn't figured out yet. Her one enigma. Apart from John of course… who had to be her brother! Sherlock smiled, _that's one thing figured out at least._

Sherlock's eyes then moved quickly. Harry was wearing the same clothes as she had been earlier. That said nothing. They were slightly scruffier but that was about it. As she sat her leg twitched a little bit as did her hands, originally he had blamed this on the typing but perhaps it was something else… He looked up to her face. The pink had faded so she looked slightly more normal but now he could see definite dark bags under her eyes. Her nose widened slightly as she breathed in but this was normal for a human… Then her tongue came out and licked her lips.

He had it.

"You're an alcoholic."

That was when there was a knock at the door.

* * *

John's hands did not shake as he gripped the gun and fired at his opponent. It was simply another man in another war that he had to fight off… that was how he would have to think of it; otherwise he'd simply be a cold-blooded killer.

How could Harry get herself in a situation like this? One second he'd been on the phone to his idiotic sister and then he heard her being knocked out, the phone immediately going dead. He'd not known what else to do other than head straight over to 221B Baker Street where she herself had been going before the incident. Luckily for him all the imbeciles who lived there had left all the doors open for him to clamber up to the right flat and find that some kind of find my phone app was still open on the computer. He had had nothing else to do than grab the laptop and head out of the door hoping that somehow this piece of technology was taking him in the right direction.

John got very lucky. He had burst out of a taxi and ran for the college, undoing the safety on his military issue as he went. It didn't take him long at all to find himself in the right room, opposite where his sister was standing shrieking and two men were standing near to each other, each about to take some kind of drug.

John didn't think. He just shot. And it was a good shot indeed… The older man stumbled and fell to the ground, leaving the younger simply staring at him. There was something interesting about the lanky man on the other side of the college… Like why on earth he was hanging around with his sister? But he didn't seem to be a source of any harm, and so he turned and ran from the building before the police could find him there.

Standing behind the policemen as one of the bystanders to the incident led him to learn a little more about the man in there with his sister and what had happened. The serial suicides that had been filling the news for weeks had actually been caused by the elderly man that he shot. And the other man was Sherlock Holmes.

For some reason all the policemen laughed when Sherlock exited the building with some kind of shock blanket on his shoulders. Some of them even pulled out their phones and started taking pictures. The man did not look anything out of the ordinary… other than being rather stunning.

Even the most heterosexual man in the world would have to agree that there was something about the way this tall man held himself that was just rather… powerful. He had dark curly hair, razor-like cheekbones and was clearly in rather a distress. John assumed it was probably because of the situation he'd been through, but then he noticed the woman following him out.

It was Harry. Her hair had been cut into a bland new shape since he'd seen her but it was definitely Harry and she was definitely safe, although she was rather clinging to the man in front of her. Something about this struck John as odd. What about Clara? Harry couldn't have fallen for this man… But then the man himself pushed her away, and walked grumpily over to one of the ambulances.

That was when John remembered the laptop. The laptop that he had stolen from 221B Baker Street… the laptop that he was sure wasn't his sister's and the one that he had just left in a taxi cab that had since left. John narrowed his eyes as he turned from the crime scene and started to walk away, dialling the number for the taxi service he'd just used.

"Yeah… I left a laptop in one of your cabs… Driver was Asian, I asked to come to a sixth form college but I told him directions from a laptop?"

The man on the other end of the line was silent for a few moments and then replied, "We haven't had anything handed in… I'm sorry but there's a high chance that it's been lost."

_Fuck it_. "Thanks," John growled putting the phone down.

He'd lost someone else's laptop. What a great way to end the day… after having shot a man. And now he was going to have to head back to that terrible army flat and use his own laptop to write a blog about having lost another man's laptop.

He grimaced as he reached out his own hand and yelled, "Taxi!"

* * *

John shut his laptop's lid with his sigh, allowing his blog entry "Theft" to lie unwritten. He didn't particularly fancy being brought in by the police for both stealing a laptop and murdering another man… It was probably for the best that he didn't write that blog.

That was when he was shocked by a knock at the door. John didn't really get visitors and yet there was someone at the door… It had to be Harry. Who else would come here at this time of night?

John was rather shocked to open the door to a man who looked rather like some kind of super-model rugby player. The man was taller than himself, but also wide with muscles showing that he had definite strength in him. He had tanned skin and blonde-brown hair that was hanging across his face in a stylish way. Why was this odd man standing on John's doorstep? John found himself rather speechless, and rather tempted to shut the door and run away to his laptop to complain about shocks on his blog.

Before he could do this, however, the man raised his hand, holding within it the certain laptop that he had lost earlier. "Hi," the man said in a rather gravelly voice. "I believe this belongs to you?"

John stared at the laptop. It wasn't his. But yes it was… for now until he gave it back. But how had this man known? "Yes… how?" was all John managed to actually relieve his brain with, causing the other man to grin widely.

"Your taxi driver took it to be handed in, complaining about the crazy John Watson who'd ordered his taxi cab and I just happened to be in to talk to one of the other drivers and picked it up for you."

"How did you know where I live?"

"I looked you up… Plus, I know your sister. Or at least of her. She works for one of my boss's firms."

Of course it had something to do with Harry. John couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly at the mention of his sister. "Well thank you… I would invite you in, but I'd probably better go return this. It's actually my sister's flat mate's, I kind of borrowed it."

The other man grinned. "Yeah, it's not a very good model, for some reason I didn't think it would be yours. It's no problem by the way."

John smiled as he grabbed his own coat and keys, heading out of the door after the other man.

Suddenly he was grabbed by a whim. This man had come all the way out to his house to return this laptop rather than simply running off with it… he deserved something in reward. "Hey, you didn't have to bring this to me, you know. How much do you want?"

The other man's eyebrows rose. "Nothing… Although you could go to the pub with me tomorrow. It feels like years since I've had a proper drink."

John nodded, surprised at the man's deal but accepting towards it. "Of course, sounds brilliant. How about The Greyhound?"

"Sounds good to me. Goodbye, John Watson."

As the strange man turned to go John couldn't help but call out, "What's your name?"

Slowly, the man turned around once more to face John with a smile. "Oh yeah, I completely forgot. My name's Sebastian. Sebastian Moran."

And with that he turned and got into a car and left.

John had to hurry to the high street to find a cab, a cab that wasn't nearly quick enough in its journey to 221B Baker Street. So slow that he felt like the police would already be on his tail for stealing the laptop… which was why he sprinted from the taxi to the front door of 221B and literally rammed the door-knocker down in his hurry to give back the laptop.

It didn't take long for someone to throw open the door. He'd been expecting his little sister, who he could chuck the laptop at and yell at and then leave once more. What he hadn't been expecting was the man from the crime scene. Sherlock Holmes.

The man who John had clearly stolen a laptop from… and who was now staring at him as if he could straight through him and out the other side. John restrained a shudder as Mr Holmes reached out a hand and said pointedly, "That's mine."

* * *

_And so we have it! Another chapter of Foundations is done and FINALLY we're into my own plotline. Well, I mean Harry being introduced is all me but I didn't like having to clear up what happened in 'A Study in Pink' much, which is probably why it was a little bit jumpy since I was trying to hurry it through past the canon plotline to my own. Anyway, a great apologies to everyone who has been waiting for this chapter. I've been rather busy with school ending and trips to Stratford as well as illness (I basically died after a massive bout of hay fever for a few days), but now it's summer! And you know what summer means? It means I can actually update fairly frequently! So I'd say expect an update on around Thursday this time? Although I won't make any promises... it could be earlier or later. One promise I will make though is that the next chapter is called "John" and so features rather a lot... of John._

_Now to my lovely thank yous of the week! I've had such a great response to Foundations and I send much love to those I have already mentioned but also to my new followers and favouriters as well as reviewers! A great big thank you to **MistressRukia13** for both favouriting and following. And then to **8of9, Unbroken Situations, MrsNoggin **and **arabia1050** for following this story. Also a big thank you to my new favouriters: **BonzaiNekoNeko, otala, Dr. **and **Emma Violacciocca.**_

_I'd like to give an extra big thank you to my new reviewers, who unfortunately I cannot PM but deserve their praise for willing me to carry on writing: **Almas Zahra G** and **The Red King**. Reviews are honestly my favourite thing in the world, so reading and reviewing is much loved by me... it keeps me writing! A great big thanks to everyone who has read, and I'll see you next time!_


	5. John

**Disclaimer: **You guys don't really need to know anymore... but yeah I don't own 'Sherlock' unfortunately as otherwise I would have stolen a certain Benedict Cumberbatch by now.

* * *

**Foundations**

**John**

Sherlock did not allow himself to widen his eyes as he opened the door but that did not halt the shock that hit his system. There he was. The man he'd been trying to find out about: John Watson. And he was standing on his doorstep holding _his_ laptop.

"That's mine."

Sherlock gave John a pointed look as he reached out his hand to take the laptop back. He didn't really want to let the other man know that he hadn't even noticed that the laptop was missing… He hadn't needed the laptop yet, especially as he'd been busy trying to make a certain sister of John's feel better so that he could find out more about John. It all seemed like a bit of a bad idea now.

Looking at John now Sherlock felt he was completely right about his decision that John was in the army. His haircut, his composure and posture… everything just screamed the sternness of army discipline. But what could John have been in the army? Sherlock had seen the small hands that had reached out to give him his laptop. There were small but distinct calluses that could only have been caused by using a gun, and yet also perhaps some kind of medical instrument… army doctor then.

The more he thought about it the more Sherlock decided he must be correct in believing John to be an army doctor. Although John must have been an incredibly good shot to kill the cabbie from that distance there was also a distinct care John had had in saving his sister and even saving Sherlock… who could have easily been killed as well.

Sherlock frowned. That was odd. Why had he been saved by John? If it were himself in that situation Sherlock probably would have shot both enemies… although he didn't have anyone to save so he didn't feel he could have been in that situation at all.

It was at that point that Sherlock realised that he had been standing in the doorway, clutching his laptop and that it was gradually getting darker and darker outside. "Perhaps you should come in," he said, stepping slightly to the side and holding the door open so John could squeeze past.

John's small stature allowed him to fit through the gap that Sherlock left him easily and yet it didn't stop him from brushing Sherlock's arm. Sherlock was surprised that immediately John was repelled from him, looking at the ground and there was a hint of red going to his ears. Interesting. Clearly John did not do much physical contact. Sherlock stifled a smile, he tended to like to play on people's nerves when he met them… this could be a good one to use.

"John?"

Harry's voice was slightly wary as she popped her head around the corner from Mrs Hudson's flat. The grin that covered her face, however, was not faked like her plastered smile from the night before – as Sherlock noted. "Thank you," she let out as she almost threw herself at her brother in a hug.

John was slightly awkward in returning the hug at first, a sign of the breaking up of their family relationship over time, but after a beat he was wrapping his own arms around his sister. "How are you doing, little sis?"

She grinned at him as she drew away. "Alright, well apart from the whole kidnapping thing… good shot by the way."

Harry was acting in a more outgoing fashion than Sherlock had ever seen her and it was odd to see how much of a difference John's presence made to her attitude. Sherlock assumed that it was because of her never really seeing her brother anymore that she overcompensated in showing her joy to see him – a method perhaps of guilt-tripping her brother into calling her more often?

"Really?" John asked as he looked her over.

His eyes were keen and definitely acting in a more medical fashion as he scanned her face, focusing on the dark patches around her eyes as Sherlock had. Harry most definitely got what John was suggesting, which Sherlock knew by the fact her face crumpled up slightly in a kind of disgust. "Yeah… I'm trying, John."

Sherlock could tell that John would be thinking of the fact that Harry had been kicked out of her flat for her drinking but noticed that John did not actually say a word but instead turned back to Sherlock. "So Harry's moving in with you?" he asked, before continuing onwards. "Why are you taking her on? I know what that reference says… Stamford had another friend to suggest before this place, and they couldn't say no fast enough."

Sherlock smiled as he began to walk up the stairs to 221B. "Perhaps we should say that I'm not your usual type of flatmate," he called over his shoulder, barely hiding the smirk from his voice.

John was still as intriguing in person as he was from across the college buildings but he was wary of trying to learn too much too fast as this man could simply walk away, unlike his sister. Sherlock was glad to hear that two pairs of footsteps followed him up the stairs. Mrs Hudson was probably taking a well-earned rest – it was getting rather late after all.

"What does he mean, Harry?"

"He's… different. A bit of an odd one."

Sherlock's ears didn't burn as he heard the siblings talking about him behind him but instead they amused him. For once he wasn't bored of such normal people… in fact he was very interested indeed, it shocked him.

Once inside the flat Sherlock headed at once for the sofa, stepping over the coffee table that was in his way. Since coming back to 221B Harry had managed to lug her suitcase in the door and then burst into tears. That was when Sherlock had been attempting his great remote-melting experiment, which currently lay in a dormant state with the remote waiting in the microwave. He was still rather disgruntled that he hadn't been able to continue it, but perhaps it was for the best as he might need to control the television in the near future.

"Shall I put the kettle on?" John asked as soon his feet crossed the threshold.

Sherlock shrugged from his current position in-sprawl. He didn't understand this dull obsession with the tea beverage that it appeared all English people had but somehow it seemed to comfort them so he would accept that. "Yes please," Harry replied as she too came to sit down, although in an arm-chair rather than on the sofa.

From Sherlock's current position he could watch the inside of the kitchen clearly as John moved to and from the sink with the kettle, filling it and putting it on to boil before heading to retrieve some mugs. It was odd for him to watch such a clearly army man doing something so domestic but now it seemed to actually click for John. Perhaps John was not simply the brave soldier Sherlock had assumed he was, there seemed to be a much more delicate side to John. Fascinating.

"So what does this reference actually say about me?" Harry called to John when the silence started to get a little on the awkward side.

Sherlock could see John's frown from here as he poured the water into the cups carefully. "It would probably be best if you didn't know."

"Your old landlord makes claims that you used to return back to your flat in the early hours of the morning drunk and turn on music as loud as possible. And also that you used to try to visit your neighbours at late hours of the night also. The other flat occupants were growing rather wary of your behaviour and so you had to go," Sherlock listed dryly, still watching John with interest.

The other man sighed heavily, finally finishing their cups of tea and bringing them over all at once. He managed to hold all three in a triangle in a way he had only seen coffee baristas do or waiters, perhaps a student job was there somewhere. Sherlock waved the thought away. Past jobs were not nearly as interesting as what the man was doing now. And of course why he had had Sherlock's laptop, a matter he had not truly figured out yet although he had an idea it had something to do with John's ability to sense where they were even though he had not been told.

As soon as his brain even glazed over the idea, Sherlock's thoughts clicked. John had come here in search of Harry when he had heard signs of distress over the phone – the cabbie after all had said that he'd heard from Harry's brother, and then John must have seen the laptop open on his desk with the find my phone page still open. Very intelligent actually. Sherlock's eyebrows rose. Well that was unexpected.

"That's not quite as bad as I thought it would be," Harry tried with a smile but her brother simply frowned back at her.

Sherlock got the sense that John was the protective older brother in this relationship and although kind he would always hold Harry's best interests above what she actually thought was good for her. "It could have been worse indeed, but as my habits are fairly bad too I did not feel I needed to take it into account. I have been searching for a flat-share for a fair while."

_A fair while meaning three days, _Sherlock thought to himself. But to Sherlock that was a long time, especially when it was keeping his brain partially preoccupied during a case.

"There was no milk in the fridge," John said pointedly as he picked up his own rather disgusting-looking cup of tea.

"Yes?"

"But there were what looked like… fingers."

Harry's face lit up. "Chocolate fingers? Oh god, I'm starving. I never saw you as the type, Sherlock."

John met Sherlock's eyes before grinning, a sight that Sherlock had not expected but actually had him smiling back. "I don't think you'd want to eat them, Hars, they looked rather… human? What exactly did you say you do?"

"I didn't. I'm a consulting detective. And you're a retired army doctor. Dr John Watson. Recently returned to London after being injured in action, perhaps in your leg? You seem to weigh slightly more on one than the other as if you used to have a limp. Although I feel that may have been psychosomatic… so perhaps your shoulder. Left, I gather?"

John's eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

Sherlock noticed Harry's wicked grin from the other armchair. "Oh this bit is good. He can tell you your life story from anything about you. I believe they called it _deducing_."

John raised his eyebrows as he took another slurp of tea, his mannerisms seeming to tell Sherlock to go on. "Well, your hair, your posture and your demeanour all suggest that you are an army man. Plus if you take into account the remarkably good shot you dealt on the cabbie then this confirms you must be an army man. And yet what do you do in the army? Your hands bear calluses that come only from guns and yet amongst these are others, marks of using medical instruments and so you are a doctor. As well as this obviously you weighed a little more on one leg than the other as you came into the flat, like you had just recovered from some kind of limp."

"The shoulder I only just figured out now. When you came into the flat you brushed past me and seemed to flinch rather too much, perhaps you are still wary of that injury after the pain it caused. Although of course I could be wrong and you simply flinched because I disturb you but I would much rather to think it's the first case."

There was a pause once Sherlock finished for him to breathe in a much needed amount of oxygen after his long speech. It was one of the more irksome of his bodily functions, he didn't really see why he should have to breathe all the time – it meant his body was constantly focusing on doing more than one thing.

"That was… amazing," John's voice split the silence.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, so shocked that he couldn't even reply for a moment. "Do you think so?"

"Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock replied, still slightly stunned.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'."

* * *

John was woken with a start, as usual, by the baby in the flat next-door to him letting rip with an almost supersonic wail. He shouldn't have expected more since he was now living in army accommodation and they mostly had to host the families of those who had gone away into battle in this housing district near London. He missed the city but he couldn't complain. At least it was something. At least he hadn't died.

John sighed as he rolled over attempting to block out the sound of the baby but failing dismally, and so deciding that he should probably get up. The night before had been one of the most confusing of his life. One second he'd been ringing up his alcoholic sister to try and figure out if she actually _had_ cut the booze or not and the next he'd been hearing her screeching through the phone. John restrained a shudder at the thought of the panic he'd gone through during his taxi-ride to 221B Baker Street… that was over now.

John glanced at his clock on the bedside table; he'd slept in late after staying with Harry and Sherlock so late at 221B. They'd finished off their cups of tea and then ordered in some Chinese take-away. It had actually been surprisingly fun for John to hang out with his sister once more and even more surprisingly John had found that Sherlock Holmes was not only intriguing but also quite fun to hang around. Yet John had had to leave for the gloom of his own flat when the food was over, leaving him waking up in his dingy room feeling altogether more down than the day before.

He had to get a job. That was John's plan. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to simply lie there. He had to get up and do _something_. With a sigh, he wandered over to his laptop to set it up to boot up while he took a shower. With that done he quickly took his shower and went through his usual start to the day, choosing a jumper and jeans for his outfit as usual.

Once he was finished he was almost ready to consider writing a blog for his therapist. His idea of "Theft" was still in his mind but he decided against it, since he'd gotten away with that without much question. John presumed that Sherlock had probably figured out what had happened with his laptop anyway. A genius would be likely to do that.

Genius. Yes, that was probably the best term that John could come up with for Sherlock. He had been truly stunned that such a man could exist that could spell out his entire life history with one look. It was amazing. It was fantastic.

John frowned. He needed to stop with the positive adjectives, Sherlock would probably start to get uncomfortable if he used too many… that is if John ever saw him again.

A pang went through John at the thought of missing out on ever witnessing such a display of brilliance again, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He could go to visit Harry at any time but he knew that his sister would figure out she was being used. Sherlock truly did live up to his first impression of being stunning.

John shook his head, wanting to disturb his thoughts as they centred themselves on Sherlock. He needed a blog topic for the day. He was determined to actually write something for his therapist today if anything else. The title flowed out under his fingertips before he could stop it: "The Consulting Detective". John inwardly cursed but continued to type, he couldn't help the fact that the only interesting things that had happened in his life since he had been shot revolved around a certain Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

_How about we meet at six at The Greyhound? – SM_

John looked at his phone in shock as it buzzed on his desk next to him. He had spent the afternoon looking into possible new jobs on the internet and had even dialled in to arrange an interview for one at a GP practice – the woman on the other end, Sarah, had seemed very excited for him to come in. Yet he had completely forgotten that he'd arranged to meet with the man who returned the laptop to him yesterday.

He bit his lip. He couldn't help but feel guilty that he'd completely forgotten, but the other man hadn't seemed to have noticed. And yet John hadn't given him his number… How on earth did he get it?

**Sure, sounds good. How did you get my number? JW**

The reply was almost instant.

_I asked Harry. I'll see you there then. – SM_

Harry. That made sense. John looked at his watch. It was half five at that moment, he had to get a move on.

Running into the bathroom, John ensured his teeth were clean and his stubble wasn't _too_ disgusting and then, heading back into the main room, he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet and then left the flat. He knew his gun was still lying well-hidden in his drawer but he felt that he wouldn't particularly need it to go and meet the man who'd returned the laptop the previous day.

Luckily for John he managed to find a cab easily and the taxi took him straight to The Greyhound without much issue. He was only a few minutes late when he got there, looking around immediately to see if the other man had made it before him.

Of course he had.

Sebastian beckoned him over with a smile from where he leaned against the bar. "What do you want?"

"I thought I was buying. It's the least I can do after you went out of your way for me after all."

Sebastian's only reply was to raise his eyebrows and point one large hand towards the spirits to the left of the bar. "A vodka, please."

It was John's turn to raise his eyebrows as he ordered their drinks, taking a beer for himself.

They both took seats at the bar and soon had taken more than one sip in the comfortable silence that fell between them. Sebastian was the first one to speak up, a smile crossing his tanned face, "Steal any more laptops today?"

John replied with a smile and a shake of the head. "Decided against it, I'm moving onto cameras next. They're the latest thing."

"And do these cameras have to be your sister's flatmate's or can they be anyone's? As I'm sure I can find a stockpile for you to steal off me."

John shook his head smiling. "I only need one. Has to be old though. Probably best stolen off him."

Sebastian smirked into his drink as he downed the remaining dregs of the vodka. That had been fast. John was barely even halfway down his beer. Clearly the man drunk like a fish. "So, Sebastian, are you part Russian, or are you an alcoholic?"

"Call me Seb. It's obviously because I'm an alcoholic. Or maybe it's because I simply hold my drink better than you."

"Do you want to try me? I've been in the army mate, we like our drink."

Sebastian flashed another grin, showing teeth that were polished to the extreme. John found himself blinking back surprise again. Did this man have to go around looking like some kind of male super-model? It just made John look awkwardly bland in comparison. He'd noticed a few girls checking Sebastian out by now… but not him.

"Perhaps not, I have work in the morning. Another time though?"

"Definitely."

John was shocked that he was being so friendly towards this man. Usually it took a lot for John to actually choose people to keep his company with but here he was with a man he'd only met on the previous day already agreeing to meet up again. John couldn't help it. There was something about Seb that just encouraged him to talk.

Sebastian beckoned the barman for another drink, looking over to John to check if he wanted one. He responded with a shake of the head. He would not be needing one yet. This drink Seb seemed to admire more as he took a tiny sip, rather than the large ones he'd been taking before. "So why did you need the laptop then?"

"Long story really… bit boring," John inwardly winced, well that was a lie since he'd killed a man.

"I'm listening."

"Well… Sherlock's this consulting detective thing and I was helping out on his case for him… with the laptop."

It was the best excuse that John was going to be able to come up with on short notice, but it seemed Sebastian was happy with it since he nodded thoughtfully, sipping again. "So how long have you known Sherlock?"

The rest of the night flew by quickly with a few more beers, lots of questions about his sister's new life and her new flatmate and his own fair share about Sebastian's own life. John discovered that Sebastian had been born in Ireland and lived there part of his childhood, which explained the slight Irish accent that faded through in his voice every now and again; and he also found out about his job working in a firm for "Jim" – it turned out Seb was the one who got hauled in to sort everything out for Jim whether it be the accounts or whatever else he wanted (a fact that John hardly considered fair).

Soon they were bidding farewells and John was heading home to his dingy flat. At least it had been a good night… and he was pretty sure he would be seeing Seb again, he seemed a nice guy and John couldn't see any harm in actually making a friend in London as since he'd returned he'd done practically nothing.

* * *

Jim's reaction when Seb finally returned to the flat was to be expected but that did not stop Seb from feeling any more destroyed by his boss as he spoke the words: "So you learnt _nothing_?"

Seb flinched at the sound of his boss' angry tone but tried not to let his eyes fall to the ground, Jim would hate that even more. "He trusts me. I couldn't get it all then… It wouldn't be smart to let him know what we're up to too fast. You know I'll manage it in the end."

"You-_ouuuu_ had better be telling the truth, Sebbie, as you know what I could do to you."

He tried not to shudder as Jim walked slowly towards him and straight into his personal space. "He still needs a flat?" Jim asked, leering into his eyes.

Seb nodded, finding his eyes drifting to find somewhere else to look. His boss was too intense sometimes, like now. "Well you'd better have one ready_yyyyy_," his boss was smirking.

Then Jim's hand moved up to grip his chin, forcing their eyes to be locked on each other's. "I will," Seb's returning voice was stern, the firm soldier that Jim had hired.

Jim smiled, clearly something Seb had done had pleased him… Although was Jim ever truly pleased? Seb could say that in all his life working for him this had never happened.

"You've always been such a _good_ boy, Sebbie. Better not stop now."

Seb nodded slightly, unable to move much because of the hand still trapping him there. Jim's smile widened. "Good," he said, and then he moved his hand to the back of Seb's head. "Because it would be… such a _pain_ to lose you."

Then Jim drew their mouths together and Seb lost all track of thought because he was where he wanted to be and for this he would do anything for the man.

* * *

_And that's a wrap for this chapter guys! I have a great big apology to make for how late this chapter was, I'm so so sorry guys. I set myself a deadline and everything but the chapter was not turning out the way I wanted it to and so I had to rewrite it several times before release, having it held back again by the fact I've been on holiday in America for 10 days. But here it is! I hope you enjoyed it and aren't too mad at me. I made the chapter extra long just to give something back for you having waited so long._

_As usual I'd love to hear from you guys as it truly encourages me to write more. And as you can see sometimes I'm a little slow so perhaps with a few more reviews I might be spurred on a little more ;)_

_Anyway my big thank-yous this week go to: **CrowofDeath **and **almaszahraghorilovesdollophead** for their awesome reviews - love you guys, **almaszahraghorilovesdollophead **again alongside **ultranicola **for favouriting and following - thank youuu, and then to **CrowofDeath **(again)**, Foxyju, ICE-SIREN27, SageTas, mescaline, shonny girl, Taz333 **and **conan-lover** for following - you guys are all awesome. Apologies also to **Dr B. Damned **whose name somehow was partially deleted in my last update but thanks to you too. Anyway I'm so grateful to all of you following, favouriting and reviewing (I PM those who review also ;) ) and love anyone who reads too! The next update should be soon as I'm off-classes still and am actually at home... so by next week, hopefully on Thursday! If not, Friday. But definitely soon! Thanks guys!_


	6. Partners

**Disclaimer: **Nope Sherlock isn't owned by me. Also there's a case in this one... and it's completely created by me, so that however is owned by me!

* * *

**Foundations**

**Partners**

"Phone."

Sherlock did not spare his flatmate a glance as he stretched out his palm in her direction. He had stated what he wanted her to do and now she just had to do it… Yet there was no sound of movement from where Harry sat in her armchair reading a book.

"Could you pass me my phone?"

Again there was silence in response to Sherlock's request from the young woman. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and rolled over from where he had been lying on the couch facing the wall. Harry had not lowered her book, but instead seemed to be even more interested in it all of a sudden.

She hadn't made much effort on her make-up today, or in the last few days. Spending a week with a detective who liked to point out when she had drawn her eyeliner on wrong and reapplied it had clearly changed her opinion on the necessity of wearing make-up around the flat. Sherlock tried not to smirk to himself at the thought.

Their first week as flatmates together had been fairly uneventful. Sherlock had only had one case and a boring one at best. Some girl had gone and drowned in the Thames and it had been up to Sherlock to prove that in fact she had just been dull and fallen in whilst intoxicated rather than been murdered (the much preferred option for Sherlock). Harry had generally stayed out of his way, taking to the streets to find a new job – so far she had been unsuccessful.

"You have legs," Harry said pointedly as if she could feel Sherlock's gaze upon her.

"I'm thinking."

"_I'm_ reading. Get it yourself."

Sherlock sighed and swung himself off the sofa, marching over to the door where his coat was hanging from a hook. The phone was in its pocket as usual and as he unlocked it he noticed there were two texts instead of the one he'd just heard beep through.

**Sherlock, I have an interesting one. Get in touch. – GL**

Sherlock scrolled to the latest text.

**You will want to see this. – GL**

Sherlock smiled. It was nice to see Lestrade squirm but this was just what he needed. Another case! They'd been running dry of late… and Sherlock was pretty sure that Harry did not enjoy having her clothes mysteriously burnt. It was her own fault for not bringing that interesting brother of hers over more often, who Sherlock had not seen since their first proper meeting but had been thinking about rather a lot since.

As Sherlock was putting his coat on, his phone beeped again and his smile widened into a grin.

**Sherlock. I need your help. – GL**

_Address. – SH_

"I have a new case, Harry," Sherlock called into the other room where the recovering alcoholic was still sitting.

"Yeah? Great. I have _no_ job. Have fun."

Sherlock sighed. He hadn't expected his flatmate to be slightly so spiteful but it simply seemed to be her mood on that particular day. They'd been getting on perfectly fine until he'd set fire to her favourite blouse. Apparently that was just not done.

"Would you like to come with me?"

It was not something that Sherlock would usually ask but it seemed on this particular day he was feeling rather generous. The response he got was to be expected.

"No."

Sherlock shrugged. It hadn't really been worth a try, but if John ever appeared again he wouldn't want him to think he'd been mistreating his sister. John was simply too _intriguing_ to annoy.

**The Shadow Lounge, Soho. Donovan will let you in. – GL**

Sherlock shoved his phone back into his pocket and opened the door just as Harry spoke up again. "Thanks anyway."

Her voice was slightly fainter this time… and oddly actually polite. Sherlock simply raised his eyebrows. "No problem."

Then he marched out onto the morning streets of London.

* * *

"About time, freak."

Donovan was standing in the way as usual, just behind the police line, scrutinising Sherlock with her gaze. "You know, I think that we might actually need you on this one… You'll certainly like it. It takes a freak to find another freak."

Sherlock didn't bother to even raise his eyebrows as he ducked under the police line and headed into The Shadow Lounge.

The club was exactly as Sherlock expected: a dark corridor leading past small cloakrooms and lavatories into a much larger space made up mostly of a dancing area but with sections for a bar and small tables to lean on as well. There was a VIP area on the right hand side of the room up some steps and it was to this VIP area that Sherlock now headed, as that was where most of the police activity seemed to be gathered, and also where he could hear Lestrade's voice gradually rising in volume.

"Where the bloody hell is he then?" Lestrade was just exclaiming as Sherlock managed to push his way through the many officers.

"Talking about me, Lestrade?"

The detective shook his head but it was clear from the tension that seemed to melt from his shoulders he was definitely glad Sherlock had arrived. "Where is the crime scene, Lestrade? I hope you haven't had _all _these officers traipsing around ruining evidence?"

Lestrade shook his head again. "It's at the back of this VIP area… But it's rather shocking. The guys have been rather upset by this one…"

"Well call them off then. Someone with more intellect has arrived. Far too much intellect to be scared by a corpse."

Some of the officers glared at him and muttered their complaints, but they were soon leaving. Clearly the corpse had affected them more than they initially let on. _Interesting._

Lestrade waited until the last officers had moved before beckoning Sherlock over to the other side of the raised VIP platform, where the body of a woman was lying sprawled on the floor, fully clothed.

When faced with a dead body Sherlock tended to go for the detail first, and this would not be any different.

Five foot three. Ginger. Slightly overweight. Mid-30s. She was wearing a white shirt and black mini-skirt, that clearly were not meant for a woman of her size and age. Her short feet were stuffed into heels far too large for herself. What drew Sherlock's eyes, however, was not her disgustingly abused feet but instead the slight trace of blood on the collar of her shirt… and the large jagged wound across her neck.

It was clear immediately that this was not actually the wound that had killed her. The blood spill was not nearly enough for this to have been the actually injury, it was probably done in the woman's final moment after the true killing strike had been done. The jagged edge to the wound implied some kind of serrated blade but by the size of it, it was not some kind of saw but instead a bread knife – dangerous in the wrong hands.

"Have you got anything?"

Lestrade had his hands on his hips and the stress was plain in his eyes. "I have a few ideas, have you figured out what killed her?"

Lestrade blinked and then pointed at the cut on her neck. "I would have thought that one was obvious."

Sherlock shook his head, noting that one of the buttons on her shirt had come off… probably when the killer was redressing her.

"This woman was the club owner's wife, going from her clothes and the bitten-down edge to her nails. She wasn't killed here though. Not enough blood. That wound didn't kill her, though, definitely – that was inflicted when she got here. Her true cause of death lies beneath the shirt if you would let me?"

Lestrade nodded, watching as Sherlock put on some gloves and then undid the woman's shirt.

The sight beneath was enough to make even Sherlock pause. Another jagged line was straight down the centre of the woman's body, from between her breasts to down slightly below her navel. Yet it was not that which made Sherlock pause. It was instead the shoelaces that had sewn her back up that held his attention.

"This woman needs to get to Molly. I need her name and your files."

"Her name is Eleanor Parker. An officer will be bringing her file along in a minute, for now you can have this."

Lestrade picked a file out of the hands of one of his underlings which appeared to contain the crime scene photos. Moments later another officer came sprinting in holding another file which Sherlock took out of his hands. "We really do need your help with this one Sherlock… especially now we've seen the…"

"Butchery?"

"I was going for extra wounds… but yes. I suppose this one is rather a butcher."

"It won't be his last. This one's a fun one. There's more to come."

"And that's what we're here to stop, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed as the consulting detective sped out of the front door, already pawing his way through the files.

* * *

John could see the police gathered outside The Shadow Lounge from streets away and couldn't help but allow himself some time for morbid curiosity by heading over. Everything had been so… plain, since he left the army. Perhaps a little crime scene viewing would do him some good. Especially since all he could think about was how exciting it had been the previous week to be involved in some crime-solving himself, even if it was only in the marksman role.

As he got closer he noticed that there were a lot more officers than usual – a murder then. He tried not to be too excited as the thought flashed through his mind that perhaps Sherlock would be there.

He'd not seen the man for a week and yet still he found himself suddenly remembering the brief evening where he'd felt like all the excitement was back in his life… then he was back to searching for a dull GP job. Seb had eased that dullness a little by going to the pub with him almost every day but the pub was really no comparison to Afghanistan.

Arriving at the police line John noted that there were several others like himself wanting to get in on the action, and the same female officer guarding the entrance. John ducked his head slightly – it probably wasn't a good idea to be spotted as a crime scene follower, people might talk.

Yet it was as John was busily trying to not get noticed that he spotted Sherlock come striding out of the front door of the building. He had two light brown folders in his hands and was already glancing at the information inside as he swept under the line and straight past John.

"Hey Sherlock!" he called after him.

John wasn't sure what it was that made him suddenly feel he should run after the consulting detective but something inside him did, and the detective actually looked up at the sound of his voice. "John?"

John grinned as he jogged over to the other man and then fell into step beside him. "If I were someone else I might think you were stalking me, John. Turning up at another crime scene like this, and keeping tabs on your sister's flatmate."

"But you can tell otherwise?"

"Well, from the way your eyes are still slightly wide and the way you were standing around another crime scene I would feel that morbid curiosity got the better of you… although I've noticed the slight tremor you had the last time I saw you has gone. Perhaps you went for the danger."

John blinked. "Absolutely right again. Amazing."

Sherlock smiled before signalling for a cab.

John lowered his eyes slightly as he realised that Sherlock was going to be leaving again. Sherlock was his only link to the dangerous existence of crime scenes and John didn't particularly want to lose that… also, there was just something about this man's presence…

Sherlock coughed a little and John looked up. He'd managed to hail a taxi and was now opening the door. "Uh… I was just going to look over these case files with a coffee. Would you care to join me?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, sure."

"That is only if case notes won't bore you…" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he clambered into the cab.

John climbed in after him. "Far from it. Well I know a nice little coffee shop down near Baker Street. Do you want to try there?"

* * *

"A latté, please," John said with a smile to the pretty waitress.

She grinned back at him, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "And an espresso for me," Sherlock added.

The waitress smiled again, leaving her focus on John. Sherlock almost sighed in annoyance. Did she really need to make her attraction so obvious? "Is there anything else you'll be needing?"

"No I think that's it."

Then the waitress had to leave, not without another smile at John. Sherlock this time did sigh. "What?" John asked, turning to the disgruntled detective.

"I was just thinking that if she made her attraction any more obvious she would be stripping naked for you in this public a place."

"Sherlock!"

"What? It's the truth. Do women always go cross-eyed when they're around you? As if so I might need to know this for future."

John rolled his eyes in response. "Hardly. They tend to run from me usually. Anyway what are these case files you're looking at?"

Sherlock pushed the murder photos file over to John. The other man flicked through them, pausing on each one briefly before pushing them back to Sherlock. "I take it the cut on the neck wasn't what killed her? Either that or they washed it."

Sherlock couldn't stop the smile that found its way on his face. The police didn't figure that out but John did… _Remarkable_. "Even the police didn't figure that one out."

John raised his eyebrows. "It's simple medical knowledge… did they not have a medic on-scene?"

Sherlock shook his head, before turning back to the photos. "Anything else you notice?"

John paused, glancing at the photo showing the neck wound again. "It's a jagged cut… so serrated blade. I don't think a kind of hacksaw would be particularly useful unless this were a butcher… So bread knife?"

Sherlock nodded with a smile. "Usually people would be running from these pictures… but you're unusually calm."

"I'm an army doctor, I'm used to it."

John paused. "I was an army doctor."

Sherlock watched John as his smile fell, the man who had been so cheerful only moments ago losing it. "The real war is here, John," Sherlock stated fact as the waitress returned with their drinks.

John took a sip of his, earning a scald of the tongue. "Mm?"

"The army doesn't need you anymore, but the real war is here. Against the underworld of London."

John smiled again, blowing on his coffee slightly. "Okay. Well I don't think I have plans to become a police officer this late in my life."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him. "You don't need to be a police officer to catch criminals. What am I?"

"I have nowhere near your level of genius to pull that one off," John laughed.

That was when Sherlock's phone decided to beep again. He raised his hand to excuse himself as he dug his hand in his pocket to find it.

**Body is in the morgue. Molly is currently performing the autopsy. Should be ready for you shortly. – GL**

Sherlock smiled at his phone. "Fancy helping out at a crime scene?"

"I just said… I don't have the genius to pull that one off."

"And you're out of work and have nothing else to do. I need an assistant to speak my thoughts to… often it looks odd speaking to myself. In fact, yes, an assistant is exactly what I need."

"Why me exactly?"

Sherlock grinned. "Might be dangerous. A soldier might be useful."

John had downed the rest of his coffee in seconds and was grabbing his coat. "Are you sure you need a partner?"

Sherlock considered for a moment… The cases had been boring of late and this would be a new way to make things more interesting, whilst also keeping John near. For now Sherlock realised he did not want to only meet John on odd coincidences like this… he wanted to be able to discuss his findings with someone who understood – who said amazing, rather than disturbing.

"Yes."

* * *

_And so concludes another chapter of Foundations, and the start of my first case! I'm really excited about this case since I've never written one before, and I've had to rewrite my plan several times, as I'm rather a gore writer at times and I know that in T this may not be particularly welcome, thus I have had literally no gore in this chapter - I've found it easier to avoid gore whilst in Sherlock's head. I'm away this week in London so the update may not come until next Sunday. I'm sorry for being a little bit late with this one but not actually that late... so hey I'm recovering from my lateness!_

_Onto my thank yous! Thanks for the simply awesome reviews **8of9, permanentlybaffled **and **DarKAngel466** - you guys literally made my day! I love getting reviews and it's interesting to hear just what everyone thinks. Also, I love hearing things that can help improve my writing or what people like and want more of so thanks guys for that! Thanks so much for the fave and follows from **underwater-icecream-cone, CrazyYaoiLover101** and **DarKAngel466** (again!). Then a big thank you to **Firelizard Tamer** for favouriting - also awesome name! Thanks also to **obsessiveicequeen** for following too!_

_Literally I love receiving any notice that you guys have read and getting faves, follows and reviews really makes my day so thanks so much for that. **DarKAngel466** you also deserve an extra little thank you for favouriting **Good Shot** my one shot which is totally my one shot baby and I would love anyone to read if they get a chance! Anyway see you all soon for my next chapter.** In which we get Molly! And more of the case! And the beginnings of some Johnlock!**_


	7. The Case

**Disclaimer: **Again I say that Sherlock unfortunately does not belong to me... As much as I wish it. Perhaps I should put a little warning that we are seeing the body in the morgue this chapter, but I managed to restrain myself on the gore since I was writing from Sherlock's viewpoint so I think you guys will be okay.

* * *

**Foundations**

**The Case**

"Bit different to how it was in my day."

Sherlock arched one eyebrow but said nothing as he held the door open for John, before heading down the next corridor in Barts' maze of hallways. So John had trained at St Bartholomew's. Interesting. But not vital. Sherlock considered deleting this piece of information, yet found himself saving it for later, slotting it into the drawer in his mind palace he'd recently named _John_.

John was trotting along behind him and Sherlock couldn't help but grin as he sped up a little. It was intriguing to see whether the doctor actually did want to stick with him. It appeared he did as John gave out a little _hmph_ and also started trotting slightly more quickly. By now usually Sherlock would have said something completely wrong and his follower would have strode off in outrage… But it seemed John was different.

A partner. Now that _was_ odd of Sherlock. He'd never really given thought to having an assistant before… They all seemed rather inconsequential to him. Irksome. Dull. Yet John certainly wasn't dull.

Everything about John drew his attention into solving the enigma that was Dr John Watson. He was a broken soldier, disturbed by nightmares and possible PTSD – as Sherlock noted from the dark patches under John's eyes, and yet he was still interested in stepping into possible further danger with Sherlock on a murder case. That said John definitely was different.

He didn't shy away from danger. He hungered for it.

"Oh! Sherlock!" Molly's exclamation was as boringly predictable as usual, as he entered the morgue with John, and Sherlock found himself biting back saying something rude.

_Not in front of John._

"Hello, Molly. I hear you have a present for me?"

Molly paused for a moment glancing behind Sherlock at John, twiddling with the sleeves of her lab coat, before apparently coming to her senses again. "Oh! Yes, it's right over there."

She directioned vaguely towards the metal tray to the left of the room away from the door, before leading them over and pulling back the white sheet.

There lay Eleanor Parker. Just as cold and just as dead as she had been the last time Sherlock saw her. From behind him, Sherlock heard a slight intake of breath as John caught sight of the body but he said nothing. Molly had certainly done her work on this one, and she hadn't quite had chance to seal the latest victim up yet.

"I-I'm sorry about the mess. I thought that you might want to see a little more of this one, Sherlock… She had a bit more done to her than is usual…"

Sherlock nodded and turned his gaze down to the corpse to take in the mutilations that he had not allowed his eyes to see quite yet.

Molly had unsewn the shoelaces from down Eleanor's middle and the flaps of skin the killer had created via this cut parted easily to show her insides. The killer was a violent one. Every rib broken in the body. Before death.

Sherlock's eyes pierced past the smashed bones to the much more interesting set of lungs. "I take it you found the cause of death then?" he asked, looking up at Molly.

The nervous girl nodded, her head bobbing annoyingly afterwards for a moment. Sherlock again would have made a comment but held back. Molly was doing all of this for him, showing him these corpses without a second thought because of some misguided crush on him… he couldn't just be cruel because of that, especially with John there.

"What was it?" John asked, peering over to look into Eleanor's chest.

Clearly he had already recovered from his initial shock at Molly leaving the corpse open in such a way.

"She was-"

"How do you think she was killed?" Sherlock interrupted Molly as she spoke, causing the girl to look even more worried than usual.

John narrowed his eyes and moved closer to the body, bending slightly so he could see Eleanor's lungs more closely where Sherlock had been looking only moments before. Silently, Sherlock found himself willing for John to find the cause of death… to prove to him that he had indeed been right in choosing to have an assistant.

"No I can't see anything- Ah! There seem to be some small incisions to her lungs… perhaps these have something to do with it."

"You would be correct, John. The incisions caused a pneumothorax, and that in turn built up to a pulmonary arrest. Her body would have been cut open whilst she was alive and awake, and these incisions would also have been made at this time."

To Sherlock's right Molly squirmed a little. "That's not all, Sherlock," she mumbled, biting on her lip.

Sherlock didn't know why the lip was meant to make men go crazy. He had read about it and decided not to delete that certain piece of information… but honestly Molly didn't seem to affect Sherlock at all. It almost made Sherlock feel bad. But then he checked himself. He was a sociopath, which meant no feelings – he didn't have time to pity Molly and her dull existence.

"You've looked in the womb," Sherlock stated as his eyes were drawn downwards once more.

He felt Molly bobbing again and took that to be a nod. Now her hand reached out to point to a thin cut in the wall of the womb. "This was also cut open while the victim was still alive… It was sewn up with another pair of shoelaces like the others. I've bagged up both."

Sherlock smiled. Good. That meant he wouldn't be getting too bored at Baker Street tonight without John.

"The woman was… she was pregnant, Sherlock."

Again Sherlock heard a slight intake of breath from John and this time he turned around to look at the shorter army doctor. "What?"

John blinked. He seemed to be in complete ignorance to his little gasp. Then John eyes narrowed slightly. Maybe it was something else. "What do you mean what? A psycho cut open a woman's womb whilst she was still _alive _and _pregnant_! I think I'm fine in being a little shocked."

Molly seemed to be lost for words as she stared at John. Sherlock realised at this moment he hadn't even bothered to introduce the two… bit late for that now, but clearly Molly was wondering who on earth he'd brought into her morgue. And who on earth he was letting speak to him like this. Sherlock didn't know himself.

"The killer is a psychopath, a person who acts aggressively, commits violent acts or crimes without remorse or empathy. I doubt he had any feelings at all whilst he killed this woman."

John let out a little _urgh_ before falling silent again. Sherlock turned back to Molly but his brain was already filling with why John had acted in such a defensive fashion… He'd only been examining the body…

Oh. So this was it. John was finding out what everyone else saw. The _freak_ detective they loved to laugh at and call names. The man with no feelings. No empathy. Like a psychopath… but not. Maybe he wasn't so different after all.

Sherlock found himself waiting for the door to slam, but the sound never came. Instead Molly coughed a little, still pinned under his gaze. Sherlock had to shake himself a little internally but then his focus was back completely: case.

"The killer… he took out the developing foetus," Molly attempted again, but paused to look away from the body.

Sentiment. Even Molly who spent her entire life examining the dead was affected by something so meaningless as a stolen foetus. "Yes?"

"And he left this here instead."

Molly now moved over to the side of the room where Sherlock hadn't noticed there was a small teddy bear sitting on the counter, covered in blood.

As Molly walked over there her ponytail swayed in an almost cheerful way and Sherlock felt like telling John that it wasn't him who was being off about the body but instead Molly for being so _happy _all the time. But he didn't.

Molly handed the bear over to Sherlock, who had already applied his gloves upon entering the room. Immediately Sherlock brought the bear to his nose to sniff.

Nothing.

Nothing but the scent of Eleanor Parker's amniotic fluid. Lovely. Sherlock noted that he had to do an experiment with amniotic fluid sometime… he had never expected it to smell quite like that.

Turning the bear over in his hands, he began to examine every inch – even sneaking his tongue out to taste the bear's coating when he got nothing from the visual inspection. It was inconclusive, and most definitely disgusted John.

With an angry sigh Sherlock put the bear down again. It wasn't worth his while to be shown as an idiot in front of his new assistant. He was meant to be walking around giving deductions and being praised right now… not stumped by a _teddy bear._

"Isn't that a Build-a-bear?"

It was John's voice that interrupted the silence that had ensured since Sherlock's sigh, and he couldn't help but be surprised.

Molly nodded enthusiastically. "Yes it is indeed. How did you tell?"

John smiled. "My little sister used to be obsessed with them when they were younger."

"Oh really? Erm… I'm sorry to say this. But I didn't catch your name?"

John smiled again and Sherlock found a slight burn run through him as he thought of how Molly was receiving all this attention from John and not him… She didn't deserve it.

"Oh it's John. Dr John Watson at your service."

Molly giggled. "Molly Hooper. Sherlock has never been any good at introductions."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he said pointedly. "What's a 'Build-a-bear?"

In reply John's eyebrows shot up. "You don't know what one is?"

Sherlock found himself rolling his eyes again. "Oddly enough types of teddy bear has never been crucial for any of my cases before and so I haven't come across one."

"They're quite a big craze actually, Sherlock. I have quite a few… Build-a-bear's a shop where you can go in and stuff your own bear… and fill it with whatever you want. You can even give it a heart!"

Molly's excitement truly had no place in a morgue.

"Yes… I asked because… well can't you record messages and get talking bears from there?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he found himself seizing John by the arms. "That's brilliant, John! Of course! The killer wouldn't leave us without a message. No he's much too smart for that. He's a serial killer after all."

"Woah," John let out, clearly uncomfortable by the detective invading his personal space but at that point Sherlock didn't care. Nor was he going to change it.

"Isn't this the first killing? How would you know it's a serial killer?"

Sherlock simply shushed him and grabbed the bear again and a pair of gloves from the side, handing them to John. "Make it talk."

John shrugged Sherlock's remaining hand off his arm so that he could pull the gloves on, and then took hold of the bear, his hands easily finding the point on the bear where the voice box would be. He scrunched up his nose in a way that Sherlock found almost endearing and then pressed the button. After a second a low male voice started spilling out.

_Rock-a-bye, baby  
In the treetop  
When the wind blows  
The cradle will rock  
When the bough breaks  
The cradle will fall  
And down will come baby  
Cradle and all._

_Rock-a-bye, baby  
Dead once for all  
Now that you're silenced  
You won't scream no more  
With Mummy dead  
Daddy's here once more  
To take you away from her  
Cradle and all._

The eerie singing stopped for a moment and then the voice was back, but this time it simply spoke the words:

_This is only the beginning. They're all mine._

The bear slipped from John's hands and his eyes flickered until they met Sherlock's. Sherlock found he couldn't look away. Something had upset John deeply… and he had a feeling he knew what it was. This was only the beginning… More future children were going to die with their mothers, and this serial killer was not going to stop until Sherlock stopped him.

* * *

"There was no CCTV at all? I know your people are bad, but that's just incompetent!" Sherlock exclaimed as he peered at Lestrade's still blank computer screen.

"They painted over the camera lens somehow. I don't know how. We don't have any footage of them doing it… They just did," Lestrade sighed, clicking off the link so his desktop flashed up again.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the fact the background remained the standard blue. Clearly Lestrade and the wife hadn't resolved their issues yet. The bags under Lestrade's eyes confirmed this, plus Lestrade's very definitely bitten down fingernails and the fact there were no pictures in the entirety of Lestrade's office.

Sherlock had never liked Lestrade's wife. She tended to get in the way a lot, and generally Lestrade didn't seem to want to hear about her affairs from Sherlock. He didn't really understand why Lestrade got so angry when he pointed out the failings in his marriage… but Sherlock assumed it was the usual suspect that was holding him back: sentiment.

"Anyway who's this?" Lestrade grumbled, looking up from his bare screen to face John.

Introductions. How ordinary.

"I'm Doctor John Watson," John answered for Sherlock, holding out his hand for a handshake. "I'm working as Sherlock's assistant on this case, sir."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John's formality. Clearly his time in the army had affected his manners somewhat. Sherlock found himself trying to hide another smirk.

Lestrade smiled and gripped John's hand. Sherlock noticed the veins appear slightly more defined on the back of Lestrade's wrist as he took John's hand. He was trying for the strong handshake. Good impressions to make and all. "Greg Lestrade."

Sherlock blinked. "Greg?"

Lestrade let go of John's hand and stood up from his office chair. "Yes, I do have a first name, Sherlock. As shocking as that might be to hear after all the years I've known you."

From the corner of his eye Sherlock spotted that John was laughing quietly to himself. He noted to ask him about it later. But for now he turned to the filing cabinet to the right of Lestrade, interested in what the D.I. had for him.

Lestrade clearly spotted his gaze. "Well there's nothing new for you in there, Sherlock. I do have her closest relatives' statements, however, which you might want to take a look at?"

At this John piped up, "Perhaps it would be easier if we actually got to see the relatives?"

Sherlock smiled to himself. He was clearly new to this game. Sherlock was the consulting detective. Not especially authorised to see all the suspects… but they would be going to see Eleanor's husband later.

Sherlock glanced at the piece of paper that Lestrade had just handed to him.

Mr James Parker. Owner of The Shadow Lounge. Mid-fifties. Pretty large age gap between himself and his wife. Clearly an adulterer, and with one of his staff by the looks of it.

Sherlock turned over to the other side of the sheet. "Is this it?"

Lestrade hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Yes… we couldn't find any more on him. He seems to be rather good at covering any of his tracks…"

"Which makes you suspect that The Shadow Lounge may be a cover for something?"

Sherlock glanced at the sheet again. "Somehow I doubt it. This man is far too plain to be doing anything covert… I think the worst thing he has to hide is his affair."

"His affair?" John had now seized hold of the paper and was peering at it as if it held the answers to the life, the universe and everything. Interesting, Sherlock hadn't quite figured out that one yet.

"Yes, his affair."

"How do you know that?"

"A rich man in his fifties manages to marry a woman below his age? He'd want to see how far he could push it. Plus, who else does he have to spend his money on? It's certainly not his wife judging by her appallingly cheap outfit we found her in."

John paused a moment before muttering to himself something that sounded a lot like the word _amazing_, but Sherlock was not going to point anything out.

"Is that all, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, wanting to get straight to the point and out of there.

It had been so long since he'd last had a case and now he was chomping at the bit to get out of there. Chomping at the bit… That was an odd phrase. He planned to delete it later.

Lestrade nodded. "Yes. I'll call you if anything else comes up… but if this one's like you said then we might have another body soon enough."

"Excellent! Remember Lestrade I prefer to text," Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he grabbed John by the arm and swung them both out of the room.

* * *

"And where are we going now?" John asked with a sigh as Sherlock pushed him into another taxi outside Scotland Yard.

"Surprise," was Sherlock's only reply as he smirked into his phone.

It was just John's luck that he would be kept completely out of the loop on everything for this case already, but he guessed he couldn't complain too much. All the people he'd met today seemed to have gotten used to Sherlock and his rather odd tendencies… yet they still seemed rather uneasy around him, so he must be in some way lucky to be kept around so long.

Sherlock was typing on his phone almost as if his life depended on it – or so John judged by the speed his fingers were going across the keys. "Texting your girlfriend?" John joked.

The cold and blank expression that Sherlock gave after the question made him pause. "Oh sorry… boyfriend?"

_Digging a hole here, John. _

John didn't have a problem at all whether Sherlock was gay or not… Even if John himself was straight he'd never call himself homophobic. Everything was fine… He had to let Sherlock know that was what he thought or otherwise he'd come out looking like some kind of pig.

"Which is fine, by the way."

John tried not to frown. Now he sounded like an utter moron… or someone who was interested in Sherlock. And as… stunning as Sherlock was… John was a straight man. He wouldn't be interested in him that way.

"My brother," Sherlock said coldly, before putting the phone away.

John bit his lip. Well that was definitely awkward… He wished he hadn't said anything now.

"John…"

"Yes?" John met Sherlock's eyes almost eagerly, trying to find some way to dig himself out of this conversational mess.

"I'm… I'm married to my work, so if you're thinking of anything-"

"Oh! No!" John stuttered out. "No… No. I was just saying if you're- Just saying it's fine…"

Now he looked like an absolute idiot. Sherlock thought he'd been trying to come onto him… John tried to ignore the fact that somewhere a little voice in his head was a little disgruntled that Sherlock wouldn't have been interested in him. What did he care anyway? Being lusted after by a man wasn't on his top ten certainly.

John found himself biting his lip again.

"Where _are_ we going?" John asked just to fill the awkward silence that had ensued between the two men.

Sherlock checked back down at his phone. "Angelo's."

"Isn't that a restaurant?"

"It is indeed," Sherlock stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that he was taking John out to an Italian restaurant straight after telling him he was married to his work.

"And we're going there because..?"

"Because you're hungry. You haven't been fed in at least six hours and by the sounds of your stomach it could be causing some problems."

John was slightly taken aback but didn't say anything, allowing Sherlock to continue. "And one of my brothers' surveillance details says that that's where Mr Parker is meeting his young partner tonight."

John raised his eyebrows. He supposed it made sense after all.

Sherlock was saved from making an explanation by the cabbie pulling up at Angelo's. So it had indeed been what Sherlock uttered to the driver when they jumped in – when John hadn't been really paying attention.

"Come on then, John," Sherlock said impatiently as he held the door open for John – letting him pay for the cab.

"Alright, alright. Do you ever pay for your own taxis?"

Sherlock smirked. "Certainly not," he said, and then he headed for Angelo's front door.

John was stopped by a quick beep of his phone and he smiled to see that it was from Seb. It was pretty odd to not be meeting up with him for a drink like they usually did… That was probably what the text was about but as he unlocked his phone he realised it was something else.

_Johnnie. Are you still looking for that flat? I think I've found one, and I'm still out of house. Wondering if you wanted to flat-share? To be honest you'd be a lifesaver if you did. - SM_

John smiled at the text. He was indeed still looking for a flat and in London that was never going to happen without a flat-share… Seb was a nice guy and he'd certainly be easy to share a flat with. No odd habits as far as John knew. And he was ex-army, as John had found out on one of their trips to the pub in the last week. Both being ex-army meant they were both likely to be pretty tidy.

John didn't hesitate as he typed back a reply.

**Sure. When do you want to check it out? – JW**

The next reply pinged in in no time, as Sherlock popped his head back out of Angelo's obviously wondering what was taking him so long. "One sec."

_They have a viewing tomorrow afternoon? – SM_

"Texting your girlfriend?" Sherlock's voice now came from directly next to John.

He'd clearly stormed over after John's dismissal. "Ha. Ha," John replied, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "No. I'm unfortunately single."

"Unfortunately?"

John rolled his eyes and instead focused on typing a reply.

**Sure. Text me the address and time and I'll be there. Got to go for now, more stuff to nick off my sister's flatmate. – JW**

"You're planning on robbing me?"

"Don't read my texts!" John exclaimed frantically as he realised Sherlock had moved even closer to him to peer over his shoulder. This man had no idea of the concept of personal space.

"Fine. Come on, John. Mr Parker's waiting."

John sighed and followed Sherlock into the restaurant.

* * *

Seb stood up wiping his hands on his jeans as he placed the final camera behind a couple of ornaments on the mantle-place and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Two thin arms wrapped around his waist and Seb found himself unable to control his own body as he leaned back against his boss.

"All done?" Jim's voice was a whisper in his ear, and then he felt the distinct pressure of Jim taking his earlobe into his mouth.

Seb let out a sigh, and leant further against Jim. "Yes."

"Well that's my good boy."

Seb nodded and hummed in appreciation as Jim's mouth swirled around his ear lobe before moving on to kiss its way down his neck, pausing only to speak again. "And you know what good boys get?"

He shook his head.

"_Rewards."_

* * *

_And there we have it! Another chapter over and now we're getting into the swing of the case! Although I will admit you haven't seen any suspects yet but it really heats up next chapter so don't worry yourselves! Apologies that this one was a little slow, I've been working on a massive essay for class as they start back next week so it's kind of held me up. Though once I got started on this chapter I kind of didn't want to stop... so as a result it was a nice long one for you! Anyway please do tell me what you thought as I really enjoyed writing this one for some reason as I got a lot more of John and Sherlock... so tell me in a review please :D!_

_On to my thank yous! Eternal gratitiude is due to **DarKAngel466** for another brilliant review, you truly made me smile by giving me another review! And thanks must also go to **Taz333 **and **lil28** for their reviews - you guys made my day with your reviews! Any review makes me happy and you truly inspire me to write more :). I must also thank my great friend **almaszahraghorilovesdollophead **whose fanfiction name takes forever to type but deserves my undying praise anyway! Then thanks must go to my new followers **Hell's Worst Nightmare **(awesome name - I love it!), **LetsMakeBabiesWaitNevermind, emsvidine, CM-MG, Francine S **and **lil28 **(again!). You guys all make me so happy to hear you like my stuff so thank you so much! Just to let you know **I PM all who review** so do check your inbox when you've reviews as I love saying a personal thank you too._

_Until next time! (Oh and by the way, Johnlock is still endgame even if it became a little unclear in this chapter :p) See you all soon with my next chapter - and when I'm back in classes I may even set things up so I can do... a weekly update! (So I don't keep failing and being late). Anyway read and review please, see you guys :D_


	8. Angelo's

**Disclaimer:** Nope, Sherlock doesn't belong to me. Nor does John. Or Angelo. Or Harry. Or really anyone... other than James Parker and his girlfriend, unfortunately, they're all mine. No gore in this one, so sit back and enjoy the ride!

* * *

**Foundations**

**Angelo's**

Sherlock glared out of the window at the darkening streets of London. He was distracted. He, Sherlock Holmes, had had his mind taken off the case.

It wasn't his fault. He was determined to tell himself that in no way was it his fault… Even if in a way it was. He hadn't tried to get John onto that subject in the taxi. And yet somehow they'd both managed to talk about it, with Sherlock blurting out that he was married to his work.

Well, he was wasn't he? As he looked out into the dimming road he saw people's lives in a mere heartbeat. That woman there was considering divorcing her husband, especially after her new bit on the side had proposed to her. Sherlock doubted said bit on the side even knew about the husband. That little boy there was lost. Any other human being might go out and help him, but Sherlock knew that would only make things worse – when you tried to escape your parents generally you wanted to be left alone.

Wasn't that all he wanted to concentrate on?

Yet, all the while Sherlock could hear John's every movement. Every creak of the chair as he struggled to settle himself, his slight cough as he flipped the menu open. He could almost even hear him biting his lip as he tried to figure out what he wanted to eat.

Sherlock tried to tell himself that this keen interest he had in John was also purely the work, but even he had to notice that somehow he was disheartened by John's quick acceptance of his speech. Sherlock shook his head to blank out those thoughts. There were too many at once. And he didn't want this. This sentiment. This keen urge to know more about John.

Luckily, at just the right time James Parker decided to enter the restaurant.

Mr Parker was fairly short, mid-fifties as his file suggested, and had a thick grey moustache that looked as if a slug had jumped up and attached itself to his lip. Immediately Sherlock knew this man was disgusting, and would in no way have treated his wife properly. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in on the evidence of food still filling that moustache, and the thick bristly nose-hairs too obviously on display. James Parker had the thinnest grey hair possible on his head and so was wearing a hat to cover it up; a hat he had not bothered to remove upon entrance to Angelo's, showing a clear lack of manners.

John looked up from his menu as he noticed Sherlock's attention tune in to the man coming through the door, and Sherlock could almost hear his thoughts buzzing through the endless possibilities of what this man was like. It was not like that for Sherlock. To Sherlock James Parker was an open book.

The bad-mouthing boss who had managed to tempt a younger worker into an affair for a pay-rise. He would attempt to give his employees as low a salary as possible whilst keeping almost all the profits to himself, not giving any to his wife. His whole aura gave out the idea of rich but middle-class – he was of the working class. Yet, even with all his money and power, Mr Parker was still bringing his girlfriend to Angelo's, which could hardly be considered the most high class of establishments – especially as Sherlock never had to pay because Angelo had been involved in one of his cases some time ago.

The fact that this man was actually taking his adulteress out for a meal the day after his wife had died told more about his character and relationship with his wife: there was no love there. There was clearly no love there with his younger partner either, that was all lust.

The woman who followed him to the table next to John and himself (for Angelo had strategically placed the reservation so) was what could only be described as a floozy. She had platinum blonde hair, was a clear American size zero, and even had the accent to match. Why an American blonde would be working at a club in Soho Sherlock had not figured out yet. The reason for her attachment to Mr Parker, however, was clear: money.

"Oh, James, you shouldn't be allowed out!" the young woman laughed as she settled down at the table, placing her handbag on the floor at her feet.

James Parker did not laugh in return but instead smiled slowly at the woman causing her to laugh a little more. The American twang said something of Southern belle, but Sherlock did not see cause to investigate this further. He'd already made his mind up on this couple.

James Parker did not murder his wife. Nor did his young lover.

It was obvious. Plain and simple. Although perhaps not so to John who still had his eyes narrowed at Mr Parker. Sherlock wanted to tell John to stop staring – they couldn't both stare, but couldn't get the words out with the duo so close by.

"And what will you two be having? Oh my, Sherlock! I forgot a candle for you and Mr-?"

"Doctor," Sherlock replied, turning to look at Angelo where he stood poised with his notebook. "Doctor John Watson. John, this is Angelo. The owner of this fine establishment."

"Ah, Doctor Watson. Order anything on the menu. It's yours, on the house."

John's eyes widened as he cast his eyes back to the menu in front of him, clearly deciding that perhaps he would go for that steak after all instead of going traditionally Italian with some pasta. It was at this point that Sherlock heard a cough from the table next to him.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at James Parker. "Did I hear you offering something free of charge, Angelo? That's hardly how to run a business."

Sherlock noticed that Mr Parker's were slightly piggish and watery. Another fact to add to Sherlock's growing list of why he didn't kill his wife: the main being that James Parker was simply not brave enough to kill anyone. He may put on the big bad boss front, but underneath he was just as insecure as the next person. Take wanting to involve himself in someone else's life like this in the restaurant – that was definitely an insecurity, he wanted to know why he too wasn't receiving special treatment.

The girl accompanying him could not have killed Eleanor simply because of her intelligence. There was no way that a girl who had to stoop to wooing James Parker would be able to think of hiding the true cause of death of her victim. There was also the fact that Sherlock highly doubted she would ever be able to create a new verse to the children's rhyme _Rock-a-bye-baby. _

These, however, were not the greatest reasons to cross people off a murder suspect list. Sherlock would need to get their prints, and see what he could identify off the shoelaces. The cuts had been almost surgical in nature too, which led Sherlock to believe that it could be neither of this duo… perhaps instead it had been a doctor.

"Sherlock has helped me a great deal in the past. It is only right that I repay him in kind. I'm sorry if this offends you…"

Angelo clearly was not the best at formally speaking to his customers and so Sherlock decided perhaps it was right for someone with a few more brain cells to speak for him. "What has this got to do with you?"

"Sherlock-"

"No, John. I would like to know what on earth makes this man think that he has the right to interrupt our evening with _his_ insecurities."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Are you deaf?" he asked. "For just a second ago you seemed to have marvellous hearing in eavesdropping on a private conversation."

"I was simply wondering why you two gay-boys should get better treatment than me and my fiancé," Mr Parker responded, his face was growing rather red now – making his resemblance to a pig even stronger.

_Homophobic. Intriguing. And he's engaged, already._

"Sir, if you would please like to stop insulting my other customers and I will let you remain here for the rest of the evening," Angelo interrupted Sherlock's thought process at the same time that John piped up.

"I don't think being homophobic at this time could help you, plus you couldn't be more wrong."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. John was definitely certain he was straight. Even though he'd definitely been interested in Sherlock's conversation earlier… And who was that he was texting anyway? Sherlock had thought it was some boyfriend of his, but then John had said he was single?"

"No, I won't stand for this. Come along Kelly, we're leaving."

At this point Kelly started laughing again. "This place is a dump anyway, James. Why don't you take me somewhere _nice_ for my engagement dinner?"

She pouted as Mr Parker stood, until he nodded. And then they were gone.

* * *

"Well that was interesting," John muttered, as he speared a piece of pasta – he'd decided against the steak after that incident.

"What makes you think it was interesting? It was simply a disgusting man getting angry for not getting what he wanted. A little bit childish, don't you think?"

John shook his head, chewing the pasta and then chasing it down with a sip of beer. "I was just saying stuff like that doesn't happen to me every day."

"You don't suffer homophobic abuse every day? I feel this may be because you say you're straight, John."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock certainly wasn't the easiest man to talk to in the world. Somehow he felt it was worth the effort though. "I tend to be able to go to restaurants without starting a fight, that's all."

"It was hardly the best spying I've done in my life, shall we call it even?"

John let out a snort. Only Sherlock, it seemed, would be able to think spying on people was a normal pastime.

Seeing Sherlock's confused face only led him to laugh harder. Especially when Sherlock asked, "What?" in perhaps the most disgruntled fashion possible.

And then Sherlock joined in. What could John say, his laughter was definitely contagious – Harry had told him so in the past. And it was as if after this laughing fit the tension from the taxi was all gone once more and John was talking to the normal Sherlock again. The normal Sherlock that he was definitely starting to call a friend inside his head.

* * *

The next morning Sherlock opened his eyes at the sound of several doors in his kitchen being opened and shut. "Do you actually keep any food in this house?" Harry shouted roughly through the door.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. He had actually slept. Staying out so late with John had clearly messed up his sleep pattern even more than usual… so that he had actually woken feeling almost refreshed.

"Try the fridge?" Sherlock yelled back to Harry as he rolled over in his bed, his brain already turning back to the events of the last night.

He had enjoyed himself.

Or well, Sherlock had enjoyed himself as much as he ever felt he could without being on a murder case. Sherlock had certainly not expected that. John Watson just kept getting more and more interesting… And Sherlock had to admit he enjoyed the older man's company. A lot.

It was a shame that he had to share a flat with his partner's altogether angrier little sister rather than him himself, but Sherlock didn't really have a choice in the matter. Although he had considered stealing John's phone to call up this "SM" to find out whether they could do a flatmate swap, but somehow he felt that John would not be especially happy with him if he did this.

Sherlock twisted round to face the ceiling once more. He had never felt his thoughts getting out of hand like this before. Usually whilst on a case it was only that: find the killer, catch the killer. Not: find the killer, John, catch the killer, John. Nor: protect John.

Sherlock shuddered as he sat up in his bed. Where had that thought come from? Protect John? What was he thinking. Clearly he was falling ill. _Transport_. He inwardly cursed his body. Wasn't illness simply a matter of mind over matter? He would just have to assume he wasn't ill… but if he wasn't ill then what was all of this? Sherlock didn't do sentiment. He didn't do _friends._

He sighed as he pulled on his chosen outfit for the day and then headed out into the main area of the flat to face Harry. She was still in the kitchen, but now she had stopped and was staring in the fridge. Where Sherlock had left the head.

"This is so unhygienic, Sherlock."

"I kept it in the fridge to avoid rotting, that means it should be more hygienic."

"Keeping a dead head in the fridge will never be hygienic, Sherlock. Nor will it ever be normal," Harry pointed out.

Her voice seemed rather faint, and Sherlock couldn't help the small smirk that came to his lips. "Squeamish? Surely not? After all the vomit you've probably seen in your lifetime."

Harry closed the fridge, narrowing her eyes. "Just because I like a drink doesn't mean I vomit all the time. I can actually hold my liquor."

"Oh yes," Sherlock replied. "I forgot. Alcoholics tend to be very good at drinking without losing it… after all if they did they'd just have to drink more."

Harry let out what sounded a lot like a growl and spun round to look into another of the cupboards where she drew out a biscuit tin.

Sherlock waited for the squeal as she found the ants' nest he was experimenting with inside, but somehow she seemed to sense its contents were darker than they seemed and replaced the tin back in the cupboard, shutting the door carefully. "Your brother seems a lot less squeamish than you, it's a wonder you share so many genes."

Harry raised her eyebrows. "Been hanging out with my brother then? I didn't know he swung that way."

"He doesn't."

Harry grinned, "You sure? It runs in the family after all."

"Sexual orientation does not run in a family's bloodstream, Harry. Do you honestly have no biological intelligence at all?"

She grimaced. "Whatever. He doesn't even speak to me anymore; a girl's got to try to find out about him whenever she can."

"Why don't you just call him?"

Sherlock's statement was so point-blank that Harry actually paused to think. That was odd. Sherlock had been beginning to think that this fiery-hearted blonde didn't actually know how. "The last few times I called him were when I relapsed… I don't think he would pick up."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows but said nothing, simply opening a cupboard, pulling out a packet of cornflakes and handing them to her. Then he retreated to his room once more, not before Harry could call after him "Thanks!"

* * *

"Well this is nice!" John couldn't keep the shock from his voice as he peered into the living room of the flat Seb had found.

"I know, isn't it? I nearly couldn't believe my eyes when I found it. I definitely couldn't believe the price."

And Seb was right about that. The flat was amazing. The living room had shining gloss wood flooring, covered mostly at the moment by a large white rug. The walls were also painted a definite white so that the place almost shone with light from the ceiling lamps.

The flat came furnished, John was happy to discover, and it was definitely almost perfect. A TV stood in one corner, opposite one of the largest red sofa's he had ever seen. Alongside the sofa was a darker coloured chaise-longue that simply called to John.

John found himself turning to Seb with a grin. "When can we move in?"

Seb's smile in return was huge. "As soon as possible. The owner seemed to honestly want it off the market."

"That's brilliant!"

And before John knew it he was pulling Seb in for a giant bear hug. "Thanks so much, mate. You're a life-saver, honestly. I don't think I could have survived another day in that horrid old flat."

Seb smiled, patting his back slightly. "It's fine."

His voice, however, sounded slightly distant and John found himself pulling away his brow creasing in worry. It hadn't been too much the hug, had it? "Uh… you okay, Seb?"

Yet the face staring back at him was smiling with wet eyes. "Seb?"

"I-"

John's brow furrowed further as Seb moved slightly closer to him. "_Seb?_"

"I've been wanting to do this all week…"

And with that, Seb stepped forwards and crushed his lips to John's.

* * *

_Bet you didn't see that one coming! Or well... you probably did but you know... I have to admit I've been a major slow-coach with my plot and my writing of this fic, and with falling majorly ill just after getting back to classes it's been a bit difficult to keep up. But I am officially setting up a weekly update. I shall be writing my chapter on a Friday night and posting it either on Friday night or Saturday morning so be prepared! Anyway what did you guys think? I was going to go for a lot more on the case this chapter, and yet then my plot seemed to write itself and before I knew it I had a cliffhanger! And it means that next chapter is certainly exciting! Or at least it's majorly exciting for me, we shall have to see what you guys think!_

_And now for my thank yous! __**DarKAngel466, almaszahraghorilovesdollophead, **and **8of9** thank you so much for some more awesome reviews! You guys honestly keep me going! And thank you so much to my first **guest **reviewer! I love you as well and I'm so glad you think that this is incredible! You really spur me onto write even if I'm being a little slow about it - this is going to change, I'm determined! Thanks for my new favourites from **Cataea **and **EJBRUSH1952**, and to my new followers **EJBRUSH1952** (again!)**, maidsun, , x-sezzie-serendipity, W. , Warriorbride, oneofthoselostsouls **(I love your name, awesome), and **enbronco**. I have honestly never had such an amazing response to a fanfic and I love all of you guys for favouriting, following and reviewing - you honestly spur me on to write more and make me really enjoy what I do. I hope you guys keep reading and enjoy the next part. Thank you so much!_

_Until next time! Where we get to see... John's reaction. And the next victim. Excitement! See you next time!_


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